


Reap the Ocean

by ferusferrum



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen, Impressment, M/M, Pirates, Pre-Series, Press Gangs, The Royal Navy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:39:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5664763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferusferrum/pseuds/ferusferrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Billy Bones and his journey from his home in London, Impressment into the Royal Navy, and the life he discovers under a notorious pirate: Captain Flint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Press

Billy found the docks of London were never quiet. There were always throngs of people coming and going, and a sense of danger as well. Any able-bodied man had to keep an eye out for press gangs, whether they were a seaman or not. The war with Spain left the Royal Navy in dire need of more men to man her ships, and the press gangs were becoming increasingly zealous in their pursuit of such goals.

Billy shifted the pamphlets he was holding and offered one up to a man passing by. “Stop the enslavement of your brothers, sir!” 

The man was wearing typical seaman’s slops, loose fitting and formless. He took the pamphlet from Billy’s hand and glanced at it before turning to look him in the eyes. “Listen boy, you should be getting along home now.” He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “There’s a hot press right now with the way the war with Spain’s been going. Don’t be caught lingering here!” 

Billy turned away from the man to look at the crowd of people going about their daily tasks. “I get along just fine sir,” he replied, but the tension in his shoulders belied his true fears. He’d seen the Press Gangs drag off more than one able-bodied man to press into the service. The warnings of his parents echoed in his head, biding him to keep well clear of men who appeared to be watching the throngs of people too carefully, or who walked like they were the King’s men themselves.

The man shrugged, “So many a man might say, until the day they find themselves sitting in the hull one of those ships.” He walked away with nary a glance at the boy standing in the streets behind him.

That’s the problem, Billy thought, that people could be forced into service on a whim, not even their own family aware of what fate had wrought them. He pulled another pamphlet off the top and handed it to a young man walking past. 

Some people would take the pamphlets without a word, just a knowing look of shared fear. Others would proclaim the unjustness of the practice amongst rational men as they pressed a small coin into his hand.

Evening was settling in, and Billy began to work his way back towards the town center. His mother had asked him to return with a loaf of bread from the baker’s, and soon the doors would close. Up the street he could see a handful of young men laughing as they entered the popular local tavern The Pelican. 

It reminded him of George. 

They’d been out on an errand to return with ink when his friend had turned to him with wide eyes and an air of confidentiality, “Did you hear what happened to old man Jack?”

Billy shrugged, “I heard he fell out of his boat and drowned.” Jack had been a fisherman, but even the strongest swimmer couldn’t refuse what the ocean desired.

George shook his head. “That’s not what I heard. Anyway, his boat was still tied up at the docks so he couldn’t have fallen out of it. No, I heard he was tricked into volunteering.”

“Tricked how?” The Press could be conniving in finding ways around their warrants, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to take a landsman in place of a seaman when their need for men was high.

“See, what they do is drop a shilling in a mans drink when he isn’t looking.” George’s eyes shone with the glee of imparting a new story to his friend. “The man finishes his drink and finds it sitting on the bottom. It’s in his possession then, so they tell him that he has accepted his first wages and deem him to have freely volunteered.”

“That’s horrible.” The very idea revolted Billy.

“It’s The Press,” George said unsympathetically. “They’ll take any man if he looks like he could do a day of work.”

The memory of the story flickered in his mind as he watched the men cheerily entering The Pelican. Billy turned his eyes back to the bustling street. A heavy hand on his shoulder stole his attention back suddenly, and he turned to find four brawny men standing behind him. Their rough faces and arrogant posture made his nerves prickle, and his heart sank.

“What have you got there boy?” The man with his hand on his shoulder asked him. He had a bushy mustache and his hair was greasy. Billy wanted to twitch away from his grip, but in spite of his pounding heart he resolutely stood his ground.

“Nothing sir.” He said carefully.

“I don’t think that’s nothing.” The mustached man said. “Let me see that.” He reached out to grab the papers from Billy’s grasp, but he jerked them suddenly away and stepped back.

“It’s a contract for the Carpenter, sir, to render services to the new inn.” The words were out of him before he had time to think, but it didn’t stop the man from snatching the pamphlets from his hands.

“Don’t lie to me boy.” The man said gruffly, sneering at him from underneath his mustache. 

When the man looked down at the pamphlets he now held Billy took his chance and spun on his heels. His heart beat rapidly in his chest as adrenaline flooded his veins and he took off into a sprint. He was quick, but the men had been watching him and he only managed a few strides before one of them grabbed him and spun him back around.

The grip on his arms was tight as the burly man at his back made him face the man holding his pamphlets.

“Don’t like The Press, do you boy?” The man laughed as he dropped the pamphlets to the road and stepped on them, grinding his heel until the paper ripped.

Billy’s fists clenched and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. He’d seen it happen to others, men hurried off by the press gang and never seen again. It didn’t mean he had to be one of them.

“No.” He answered succinctly. “And it’s not right what you’re doing, forcing men away from their families against their will.” He pulled against the hands holding him still, trying to get the man to let him go. It was no use, the man cuffed him and held him tighter as they other men snickered at his struggles.

“I’ve got a warrant here saying that it is our right, boy. And His Majesty’s Navy needs all able bodied men to do their duty for their country.” He stepped in front of Billy and looked him up and down, considering. “You’re young and strong. With some training you’d make a fine seaman.” He turned his gaze to his men. “Let’s bring him in.”

The hands holding him gave him a shove forwards and he gave a shout, throwing his elbow back into the gut of the man behind him. “Let me go! You can’t do this!” He threw his fists wildly as the men surrounded him, but even as they landed the men seemed to shrug the hits off.

If he could just make an opening and run, he knew he could be free. He doubted they could keep up with him. A blow to the side of his head had his vision spinning and ears ringing. As he tried to recover, another blow to his stomach knocked the air out of his lungs and dropped him to the hard ground. He gasped and struggled to his hands and knees, scrabbling for purchase and trying to crawl away. Fear chilled him. He could feel his chance slipping away.

A kick bruised his ribs and he collapsed again, grunting and gasping as another kick landed. Unwanted tears of pain prickled at his eyes as he fought to hold them back. He stopped moving and struggled to breath. His stomach churned as one of the men leaned down and hauled him to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

He stumbled as the man shoved him forward, but before he could fall two of them got on either side of him and grasped his arms, nearly carrying him down the street. His legs felt weak as he struggled to keep pace with them, and from the corners of his eyes he could see people glancing at him with pity as the men carried him off.

None of them would stop what was happening. They all knew too well that to get involved would mean volunteering themselves for the same fate. It stung to know no one would be coming to help him. What would his parents think when he didn’t return home? He hadn’t even gotten the bread. It would be a bitter irony that his fate would lead him to this end.

The men stopped at a lone house and brought him inside. He could hear voices coming from the adjacent room. When they entered two men were talking over a desk at the far end of the room. Both turned to look at him. He could see them taking in his scuffled appearance. The man behind the desk stood up and approached them.

“What do we have here? A volunteer?” He stopped in front of Billy and looked him up and down.

“We found him passing out anti-impressment pamphlets Lieutenant.” The man with the mustache said.

“Is that so?” The Lieutenant clasped his hands behind his back. “And what is your profession boy? The printer’s apprentice? Is it he that makes you carry these damned pamphlets through our streets?”

His body ached and his head spun, but he had found his footing. Billy stood as straight as he could in between the men who held him in front of the Lieutenant. “Yes, sir. I am a printer’s apprentice, and no seaman.” Perhaps knowing him to be a landsman they would let him leave. Even as the thought crossed his mind he had the dull feeling that it would not matter.

The Lieutenant was unmoved. “You seem to be a strong young man. The Royal Navy needs lads like you. It’d be in your interests to volunteer yourself to her service.” His voice was empathetic, but his eyes were hard. 

Billy could tell that it wouldn’t matter if he volunteered or refused. It didn’t matter if he had any experience as a seaman or not. A hot press meant legally they could take landsmen as well as seamen, even if the latter were preferred. “I don’t want to volunteer,” he said in as clear a voice as he could manage, even as his muscles remained tense. “I am happy to be apprenticed to the printer.”

“That’s too bad. The printers such as you have apprenticed yourself to have been causing us much trouble. They incited a riot no less then a month ago. It would only seem fitting for their apprentice to make reparations for the trouble they’ve caused the Royal Navy by offering his services. What do you say boy?” The Lieutenant didn’t wait for him to respond. “Take him to the ship.”

“No, wait!” This couldn’t be happening, the thing his family railed against couldn’t be happening to him. Panic surged through him and he struggled against the men with renewed vigor. “Please!” His desperation wouldn’t allow him to feel ashamed for begging them not to take him.

One of the men cuffed him hard, and his teeth clinked and bit into his cheek. The iron taste of blood flooded his mouth as his stomach agitated with the sudden resurgence of pain.

“Come quietly and you will have less bruises to show for it,” the man said.

From there time seemed to flow and melt together in his state of shock. Despair flooded him. He felt a sudden agonized longing to see his family. Would they hear about what had happened to him? Would they know he had been taken? His eyes stung but he fought back the useless tears.

They reached the docks and he was brought over the brow of the ship and into the Captains cabin. The Captain was going over some kind of ships log, and stayed seated when they presented him.

The Captain glanced up from his log and looked Billy over with a critical eye. “Who is this?”

The man with the mustache replied, “A pressed man for your crew sir.”

The Captain dismissed him as he turned back to his papers. “Put him below with the others. We will put him to work when we’ve left port.”

“As you will sir.” The men turned and marched him out of the cabin. “That’s Captain Edger for you boy. He’s a hard taskmaster, but the HMS Lancaster is one of the most efficient ships in this harbor.” He turned to look Billy in the eyes. “If I were you, I’d take care to not stand out.”

They took him to a locked cabin and pushed him down beside three other men, all clasped in irons. When the metal closed around his flesh a bleakness of spirit settled over him. He was well and truly trapped now, in a dank dark hold filled with a fetid smell. Then the door was shut, and the scrape of a lock clicking shut came distantly through the door.

Silence settled over the four men, and they scarcely stirred against it. Billy shifted his hands in his lap and the rattling of chains unsettled him. Desperation seeped into him once more. They hadn’t left the docks yet, surely there was still some hope for escape. Perhaps they must bring them out of the hold for some reason. Maybe if there was a fight they’d be forced to separate them. He knew it was unlikely, but he couldn’t help his racing mind. One of the men, with brown hair shorn close to his scalp caught his eyes and shook his head.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said as his own eyes drifted over to the door. “But there’s no way out. They’re not going to let us up until we are well underway.”

“You don’t know that,” Billy replied stubbornly. “Perhaps there is a fire. Or to use the head.”

The man scoffed. “I was a sailor before I was pressed back into the service, we will have to make do with the faculties here.” He gestured at the bucket left behind. 

The man’s words were cold water dashed to Billy’s rising hope. He knew it was true, and he’d never heard of anyone escaping the hold of a ship immediately after being pressed. Perhaps the first port they made once they were underway. There had to be something he could do.

The dim light reflected in the other mans eyes as he turned a sympathetic gaze back at Billy. “My name is David, David Goddings though that doesn’t count for much anymore.”

“William Manderly, but I go by Billy,” he replied, and the band around his heart loosened. At least he had some kind of friend here, though he was uncertain exactly what kind David would be.

The man chained beside Billy suddenly spoke up. “Bernard Waller, I was a ship’s carpenter.” The remaining man stayed quiet, staring blankly at the deck beneath him as the four descended back into silence.

The ship rocked gently in harbor, and as the aches of his body and boredom settled in he began to slip in and out of an exhausted sleep. After an indeterminable amount of time there was the sound of footsteps outside the door, and then the rattle of the lock. Billy found his eyes opening as he suddenly came alert. His ribs ached, but he watched the door with the other men, curious to know what was coming.

A moderately tall man stepped in, followed by a man who was both short and rounding. “Just these two then?” He said to the smaller man.

“Yes, we don’t want them infested with lice if we can avoid it,” the round man said in an aloof tone.

The tall man’s eyes set upon Billy first, and he advanced on him. His heart began to beat painfully in his chest again as he backed away as much as the chains would let him. Then the man’s hands were on his head, and he froze at his strong grip.

“Don’t move. Wouldn’t want to cut your face by accident now would we?” Then the man began to cut away his hair. It was only a few inches in length, but the mans shears took it down close to his scalp. His manner was gruff, and his hands well practiced with the process. He moved Billy’s head to the side and he stayed frozen, not wanting the man to accidentally nick him.

Then it was finished and the man repeated the process on Bernard, whose face remained blank even as his eyes shone in outrage. Their shorn hair littered the ground around them when the man finished and walked back to the door. 

The short man gestured to someone outside the doorway, and another man came in and dumped a few hard rolls on the ground next to a bucket of water. 

“This is the only food and water you’ll get until we’re underway tomorrow. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to mess with the other sailors soon after.”

Then the men left, shutting the door firmly behind them and latching it shut once more. Billy’s aching stomach rumbled and he fell upon the hard tack with the other men. He longed for his mother’s porridge, or for the bread he had been told to return with. None of that mattered now.

He slept intermittently through the night, and his bruised body began to ache more as he settled into his position. The only sign of the passing time was the ringing of the ship’s bell. 

A flurry of activity and shouted calls brought him into full awareness some time later, and then the motion of the ship began to indicate they were getting underway. David confirmed it, and Billy felt his spirits dim at the realization that they were really underway. His family was here, but he was leaving. He wondered if they had worried when he hadn’t returned last night. Had they gone looking for him? Had they found their pamphlets crushed and torn in the streets?

It didn’t matter now, but he wouldn’t give up either. As soon as he got a chance, he was going to make it back home.


	2. Fever

“Hoist the topsail!” The Sail Master called, and men moved to quickly take the ropes before the relentless Bosun could catch them with a lash from his cane. Billy moved into position as the Bosun was moving past him, and was treated with a disgusted flick of the cane across his shoulders for his recalcitrance. 

Billy’s muscles ached with constant use, but it was an ache that was slowly fading. It was nothing compared to his first week on the ship, with bruises still in full bloom and muscles unused to hard labor. It was hard to believe that only a few months ago he’d been at home in London with his family. This was his life now, and the ship encompassed it in a bleak totality. Now the ocean surrounded him, blue to the horizon in every direction. It made him feel small. They were a handful of men on a small ship that could easily be swallowed by the sea without a trace, and he but one soul amongst them.

“Heave!” The call rang out, and the men along the rope pulled in time with the call. Billy gripped it in his hands, setting into it with his body to pull with the other men.

The rope burnt Billy’s hands as he grappled with it, and the sun burnt into his skin through the sailor’s slops he’d been outfitted with. Sweat rolled down his back and wetted his clothing. 

“Heave!” The men put their backs into it as the Bosun continued his prowl, looking for anyone who might not be pulling his weight. The crew worked diligently on the ropes, and with the confidence of having done this many times before. Despite this, Billy could see one of the men was having difficulty. His hands would slip as he pulled, and he struggled to reset his balance before the Bosun noticed. He wasn’t quick enough, and suddenly a cane was across his shoulders, the Bosun berating him for his sloppiness. The man fell.

Billy knew the bite of the cane, and though it hurt it shouldn’t have brought the man to his knees. The man started to scramble to his feet and grasp for the rope before the Bosun could deliver another blow. The Bosun looked surprised at the man’s fumbling, but recovered and exclaimed angrily “Keep your grip Henry!”

Henry gripped the rope again, but as the call came to heave once more, he staggered with it. It seemed obvious to Billy that all was not right with the man, and the rest of the crew was realizing it too.

“There’s something wrong with Henry,” the sailor pulling next to the man said to the Bosun. The Bosun’s face was clouded with anger, but it was undeniable that something wasn’t right with the man who was breathing hard as he fought to hold on to the rope and keep his feet at the same time.

“Too much sun,” the Bosun spat belligerently. “Philip!” He called out for another sailor. “Take Henry to the Surgeon.” A man, tanned from exposure to the sun hurried to Henry’s side and pulled the man’s arm around his shoulders to support him. As they left the deck the Bosun turned back to the rest of the men. “Don’t stand around and stare, heave!”

The crew turned back to their task, pulling the ropes until the sail was in place, and then turning to tie them down. David had showed Billy the knot to use, and after he tied it one of the sailors looked it over and gave him a nod of confirmation, it was secure. The Sail Master began to call out more directions, and the crew bent to their work.

Among the duties Billy had become accustomed to he scrubbed the decks, had been taught how to mend rope, and amidst the menial tasks of his day served the ship’s Surgeon his meals. Each of the officers had a servant assigned to them: a ship’s boy who was learning basic seamanship, or another junior hand without any useful skills or experience. The landsmen who had been impressed into the service were naturally lacking, and so to them had fallen this task as well.

Among them was the Captain’s serving boy, Tom. He was the Captain’s nephew, but despite Billy’s hatred for the Captain who had allowed him to be pressed, he couldn’t find fault with the boy for his relations. The boy was quick on his feet and diligent, and the crew was very fond of him.

The Surgeon Billy brought meals to was not so bad. He was middle-aged and balding, but rumor had it that he was one of the best Surgeons around, and a boon to the ship. He was often engrossed in his books, or would be out on the deck talking with the Quartermaster.

That evening Billy reported to the mess deck to collect the Surgeon’s dinner of salted meat, biscuit and beer. He waited for Tom to grab the Captains meal, and when he sprinted off, he took the Surgeons.

Usually the Surgeon was too distracted to speak to Billy, so it took him by surprise when the man suddenly turned to him and addressed him.

“Billy, is it?” The man said as Billy set his portions down on his table.

“Yes, sir,” he said as his curiosity was piqued.

The Surgeon sat back in his chair and looked up at Billy. “I know you haven’t been with us on this ship for long, but do you know Henry?” 

Billy tilted his head in confusion. “I know him, but only in passing. Is he doing well?”

The Surgeon looked grave. “He’s delirious with fever, and there’s been another sailor showing early symptoms of illness. I’m concerned for the health of the crew.”

The Surgeon didn’t have to elaborate; Billy understood the dangers of an illness such as this in such a cramped space. His parents had cared greatly for his education, and he knew that if you did not separate the sick men from the healthy the disease could become rampant. 

“Bring some food down for Henry when you’re finished please.” The Surgeon looked at him with piercing eyes, “and pass along the word that if any man begins to feel ill they are to report to me at once. I think you understand why this is important. I will speak to the Captain myself.” Then he dismissed him.

Billy nodded his head in acknowledgment and ducked out of the Surgeons cabin, thoughts racing at the news. He’d seen disease spread before in his town, but it had never felt so close to him. Henry isn’t dead, he remind himself, just ill, and a sick man can recover. 

He entered the mess and found the men at the table, waiting for Rowland. He had been the one assigned the duty of cooking for their mess that night. Each mess consisted of about eight sailors, and each took his turn at providing meals for his mates. Their mess consisted of the impressed men, as well as a few junior sailors and the Captain’s boy, Tom.

Billy’s hands burnt from the rope, but his body was slowly forming calluses. His form had taken on a new leanness, and his muscles were becoming more defined. His hair was still short, shorn every other week along with the other men who’d been impressed, and it made it easy to tell them apart from the regular crew. The sailors had longer hair tied back as a mark of their service.

Billy took his seat at the table next to David, and one of the junior sailors leaned impatiently forward to speak to him.

“How’s Henry?” The boy asked. “I haven’t had the chance to check on him.”

Billy couldn’t tell if the boy’s curiosity was for the gossip, or if he’d been close with the man, but he thought it was the latter. “He’s very ill,” he said, “and another man’s taken sick as well. If you start showing symptoms you should report to the Surgeon.”

“I’m surprised he isn’t with the Surgeon already with the way he is,” one of the men said.

The boy looked affronted, but the man sitting next to him snorted and elbowed him in the ribs. “Maybe if it was treatable, but we all know George here.”

The other man laughed, “He’s a walking disaster is what he is. It’s why they won’t let him up in the rigging.”

“I can take care of myself,” George said petulantly. 

“But not the ship, your knots are shit boy.” The man told him.

Tom suddenly appeared at their table, hurrying stiffly back from serving the Captain. Behind him Rowland came, and they each helped him set about their portions. The food was hard to chew but filled their growling bellies. In truth it was better than some men were able to get on shore, especially washed down with a ration of beer. 

Tom sat on the other side of Billy and kept his eyes down on the food in front of him. Billy caught the boy glancing around the table in between chewing and smiled kindly at him before turning back to his own meal and the on-going conversation. 

As he finished his meal he used his beer to wash down the last bit of salted meat. Then he left his messmates at the table and went to retrieve another portion to bring to Henry in the sickbay.

X

That night Billy lay awake in his hammock, his mind buzzing with thoughts that would not leave him alone. His longing for his family and friends was a knot in his belly that nothing could assuage. Everything had changed, but he was adapting anyway.

He closed his eyes and felt the hammock swaying as the ship cut it’s way through the waves. The other men were fast asleep, their slow breathing echoing the creaks of the ships wooden hull. He focused on the motion of his hammock and timed his breaths with the swaying.

Across from him he heard a groan and the sound of a man struggling to get out of his hammock. There was a low thud as feet hit the deck, and as Billy cracked his eyes open he saw Rowland’s knees give out from under him. He collapsed forward.

Billy found himself suddenly wide awake, and pulled himself from his hammock and over to Rowland’s side as the man pushed himself back up into a sitting position.

“Rowland!” Billy called in a low voice as he came to his knees next to him. “Are you okay?”

The man licked his lips and then looked up at Billy. “Water,” he said in a cracked voice.

“I’ll get you some water,” Billy reassured him, and got to his feet. He went to the cask holding their drinking water and brought a cupful of the lukewarm water back to Rowland. “Here, I’ve got water for you.” He held the cup out to the man, and Rowland took it in trembling hands, drinking deeply.

“You don’t look too good,” Billy told him. Rowland set the cup on the deck slowly and shook his head. “Can you stand up?” Rowland held his arm out to Billy, and Billy grabbed it, holding tight as Rowland forced himself to his feet. He stumbled, and then righted himself.

Billy could feel the man’s skin hot beneath his palms, Rowland was sick. Anxiety twisted his stomach. It was as the Surgeon had feared, with another man getting sick there was no doubt there was illness stalking the crew.

“We should get you to the Surgeon,” Billy told Rowland. “You look very ill.”

“I’m fine,” Rowland said, though his voice was hoarse and Billy could feel his hand trembling on his own.

“Maybe you are,” Billy soothed him, “But we should see the Surgeon anyway.” He pulled Rowland’s arm over his shoulder to steady him and urged him forward. “Come on, we’ll just stop by for a minute.”

Rowland didn’t acknowledge him, but when Billy took a step forward the other man did so as well. Together they navigated their way through the hammocks of the sleeping crew, and up to the main deck. 

As they emerged onto the deck one of the men standing watch hailed them, and Billy carefully guided Rowland towards the man.

“He’s ill,” Billy said to the watchstander. “I’m bringing him to the Surgeon.” The other man looked Rowland over in the dim light, taking in the sweat on his face and trembling of his arms, and then turned back to Billy.

“What’s this man’s name? The Quartermaster would like an accounting of any men who take ill overnight.”

“Rowland,” Billy replied. “Have others been sick?” 

“Only one. He was brought up this evening, thought the food had made him ill.” The watchman said, “But the Quartermaster wants to take precautions. “

“That is wise of him,” Billy replied.

“You’ve never seen anything spread like it does on a ship boy. We’d do well to pray for our health.” The man looked back at Rowland. “I hope you’re friend recovers quickly. For all our sakes.” Then he gestured at them to continue on.

Billy readjusted his grip on Rowland and they headed towards the Surgeons cabin. “You’ll be fine Rowland,” he reassured the man. But Rowland stayed silent.

He knocked on the door, and then pushed it open. There was a lantern on the Surgeons desk, and the Surgeon was tending to one of the men. Probably the one the watchstander had mentioned. As Billy entered the room with Rowland the Surgeon looked up.

“Another one?” The Surgeon asked as he glanced at the man leaning against Billy. “Well bring him here,” he said, and gestured to an open hammock.

Billy helped Rowland into it, and stepped back to let the Surgeon work.

“How are you feeling?” He asked Rowland as he peered into the man’s eyes and checked his forehead.

Rowland swallowed dryly and answered. “Like my skin is prickling,” he paused, “and the world is spinning.”

The Surgeon sat back. “You’ll be sleeping here tonight. We will see how you are doing in the morning.” He turned to Billy. “Thanks for bringing him by. See to yourself now and get some rest.”

Billy nodded, and left the Surgeon to his work. He sank back into his hammock and this time when he closed his eyes he drifted quickly into sleep.

X

The next day dawned bright and hot, soaking the backs of the men working on the deck with sweat before noon. The impressed men and junior seamen scrubbed the decks with holystone, sandstone used to clean the wooden decks of ships. 

The more experienced sailors worked under the Sail Master to adjust the sails to catch the wind. David was one of them. Although he’d been impressed with Billy, Rowland, and Bernard, he was the only one with prior service. He’d accepted his fate where they had not, and quickly put his skills to use. He fit in well with the crew.

A blow to his back by the Bosun’s cane had Billy scrubbing the deck under him more fiercely as a frown twisted his face. The Bosun loved to encourage the crew with blows, but it only made the men resent him. Billy thought he loved the power too much. He took pleasure in putting men in their places beneath him and was rarely happy with the work they did.

Bernard was scrubbing the deck next to him and shot him a sympathetic look even as he bent into his own work. They could hear the cane smack down onto another man’s shoulders as the Bosun cursed him to put his back into his work, or was he simply incapable?

“Watch out below!” One of the men aloft suddenly called out, and Billy saw the Captain’s serving boy dodge agilely out of the way as something fell to the deck. The boy grinned unabashedly up at the men in the rigging and Billy could hear them laugh. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed!” One of the Sailors on the deck told the boy.

“You’ve got more lives than a cat,” another told him, and ruffled his hair as he shooed him on his way with his errand. 

David was coming down from the rigging, and when he hit the deck he looked over the men scrubbing the deck. Billy kept scrubbing as he watched the men moving about the rigging and deck out of the corner of his eye. David’s eyes suddenly met his and then lit up. 

David made his way across the crowded deck to Billy. “How do you feel about learning something more useful than scrubbing the deck?” He asked as he watched Billy. Billy paused to look back at David, and he could hear the sudden footsteps of the Bosun coming towards them.

“Like what?” He asked him.

“What are you doing!” The Bosun had arrived.

“We could use another hand in the rigging,” David told the Bosun. “The Quartermaster wants everyone to know how to work aloft, and Billy is a quick hand.”

The Bosun looked back at Billy speculatively. “Take him then,” he said finally, “But take care not to fall, we need all hands working on this ship.” He crossed his arms and watched as David led Billy away from him.

David took him to the main mast and showed him where to place his feet as they both began to climb. Billy could feel the ship rocking even more from his position on the mast, and when he looked down his head whirled from the height. A fall from here could certainly kill a man, and it had done so before. He followed David, taking care to keep his grip. David moved quickly and with an uncanny familiarity, but Billy took his time with uncertain steps.

They reached the main topgallant yard, and David pulled himself onto the footropes, leaning over to reach the sail as his feet balanced on the rope spread out along the yard. Billy pulled himself up as well and his hands and arms tightened convulsively around the yard as he looked down and his stomach lurched along with the ship. The rope did not seem adequate, but he balanced his feet on it and moved slowly. At this moment, he dearly missed land.

David looked over at him and grinned, “One hand for yourself, and one for the ship,” he said warmly. Then he showed him how to release the sail. He learned quickly by watching David and copying the sailor’s motions. They both worked along the yard, working the rigging until the sail finally was released to catch the wind. 

Finished they paused, and Billy took the time to look around. It was amazing how far he could see blue in every direction. The ocean sparkled with the sun on the water, and below him he could see the rest of the crew carrying on their work around the decks like ants. Other men were in the rigging of the next mast, and he could see they worked with an easy confidence that spoke of familiarity with the task at hand.

Billy was relieved to follow David back down the mast. When they reached the deck David clapped him on the shoulder. “You learn quick as I thought,” he said.

Another sailor grinned at him, “How’d you like your first time in the rigging?” He asked.

“It’s much higher than I thought,” he said honestly. “But the view is amazing.” The sailor and David laughed.

“We’ll make a sailor out of you yet,” David told him, and the sentiment struck him with uneasiness.

Billy spent the rest of the day working with David as he explained the ships rigging and named the sails for him. It was enough information to make him dizzy, but David assured him that it would come in time and with experience. 

At the wheel of the ship he could see the Captain consulting with the Quartermaster and peering out over the ocean with his spyglass. The Captain’s boy came up to him with some paper and the Captain pocketed his spyglass. He took the papers and left the Quartermaster with the boy following him back to his cabin. 

The bells rang out to count the hour, and the Bosun approached them. “Report to the Quartermaster,” he told Billy in his usual harsh tone. “Be quick about it.”

Billy left David and the Bosun behind and went to the helm where the Quartermaster stood. “Reporting sir,” he said when he stood in front of the Quartermaster.

“You’re the Surgeon’s servant?” The Quartermaster asked him, more a statement than a question.

“Yes,” Billy replied.

“Good,” the Quartermaster said. “Bring the Surgeon his portion today, as well as enough for four sick men.”

“Yes sir,” Billy said again, and left to complete the task.

When Billy returned to eat with his mess the mood was somber. All the men there had been sharing their meals with Rowland, and to have one of their own confined to the sickbay left a feeling of foreboding amongst them. Tom, the Captain’s boy, was missing as well, but Billy knew assured them that he’d seen him with the Captain and so he was not sick.

David had cooked for their mess tonight, and the men ate their meal of salted meat and biscuit with hunger, but not the usual relish. Some of the men made small talk about the days tasks, but Billy didn’t have the heart to participate. When he’d brought the meals to the sick men he’d been discouraged to find they had little appetite. They took water, but despite the Surgeon’s insistence could stomach only a small amount of food.

Henry had been incomprehensible, and Rowland had been weary and not completely aware of where he was. He had been asking after his wife, and Billy had solemnly told him that she was not there. It had been heartbreaking to hear, and Billy felt the loss of Rowland’s previous life due to his impressment as keenly as his own.

The reason his life had changed was never far from his mind, but he’d spent so much time working with the crew and getting to know them he felt like he had a place with them. However, the regular shaving of his head and the other men who’d been impressed served to remind them all of their differences in coming to the service and that they were considered beneath the regular crew by the Bosun and Captain. Billy could never forgive them for allowing the practice to continue on, to condone taking a man by force to serve them, not to mention the basic cruelties the Bosun enjoyed inflicting on the entire crew. But it was the Captain who permitted the practice to bolster his crew.

The mess finished their meal together, and broke to finish their evening duties before retiring to their hammocks.

Billy was retrieving a ration of beer for the Surgeon when he heard hitching breaths and the sound of low crying. He frowned as concern flowed through him, and looked towards the sound coming from between two large casks. He peered between them and saw the Captain’s boy looking back at him. His cheeks were tearstained and when he saw Billy looking at him he tried to cover his face with his arms.

“Hey,” Billy said softly, and sat on his heels peering back at the boy. “What’s wrong?”

The boy sobbed once and shook his head. Billy looked back out but no one was around, so he sat on the deck and moved to sit near the boy.

“Sometimes I don’t feel so great here either,” he said to him. The boy sniffled and kept his face covered. “It’s okay to not feel good, but if you tell me what happened, I might be able to help you.”

The boy pulled his face back and wiped at his tear stained cheeks. “You can’t,” he said.

“I might surprise you,” he told the boy, smiling at him in an attempt to lighten the boy’s mood. 

“He’s angry with me.” The boy sniffled again, and kept his face turned down.

“The Captain?” Billy asked, perplexed. Had the Captain berated the boy for a mistake? “Did he yell at you?”

The boy turned his head to the side. “Yes, but it’s not that.” Fresh tears streaked their way down his cheeks and dripped onto the deck below. He sniffed and then reached down and lifted the hem of his shirt up.

Billy’s mouth fell open in surprise as he saw the boy’s abdomen covered in fresh bruises. “He hits you?” He asked in shock. 

The boy shook his head and wiped at his face, letting his shirt fall back down to cover him. “He was angry.”

Billy couldn’t get over the shocking sight. No wonder the boy thought no one could help him, the Captain was like the God of his ship, for who could stand up to him? His word was absolute law to those under him.

“It’s my fault,” the boy said, “if I hadn’t spilled his beer on his papers...” He sniffled again and buried his face in his knees. 

Billy felt his stomach turn, he was sickly certain that this was a situation he could do little about. Maybe he could talk to the Quartermaster and change who waited on the Captain? Take the boy’s position? Perhaps that would work.

“It’s okay,” Billy told him, though he was sure it wasn’t reassuring at all. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and then I’m going to see if someone else can wait on the Captain instead.”

The boy looked at him in shock. “No, don’t do that!”

“Why not?” Billy asked him.

The boy looked uncomfortable. “He’s my uncle.” He said as he shifted on the deck.

“Maybe just for a day,” Billy told him. “Until you’re feeling better. Now come here, let’s get you presentable.” He stood up and reached his hand out to the boy. The boy was looking at him in surprise, but he took his hand and Billy pulled him up.

“You haven’t eaten yet today either, have you?” He asked the boy, and the boy shook his head. “We’ll take care of that too.”

He helped the boy clean his face so no one could tell he’d been crying, and then brought him to the cook to feed him. When he had the boy settled he found his way to the Quartermaster.

The man was talking to the Surgeon by the railing, and as he drew close he could hear snippets of their conversation before the wind carried their voices away. As he drew near he heard one sentence clearly.

“Henry is dead.”


	3. Despair

“In the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life…” The Quartermaster’s voice was heavy as he read the last rights, and the ship rocked gently on the ocean waves. “ …our shipmate, Henry Dowling. We commit his body to the depths.” The Quartermaster looked out at the gathered crew, and then signaled the men carrying Henry’s body on a barren mess table. The table rested on the edge of the ship, and at his signal the men tilted it forwards allowing Henry’s body to slip into the ocean.

The sun beat down on the bare necks of the men gathered on the deck as they bowed their heads for their fallen shipmate. Tom and David stood beside Billy on the deck, and in the silence that ensued the only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves and creaking of the ship. Billy’s heart was heavy in his chest. Although he’d barely known Henry it was difficult to remain unaffected by his death. Henry had been well liked amongst the crew.

The Quartermaster beseeched them not to forget their fallen shipmates, but to remember them in all they did, and with that the ceremony was concluded. The crew moved slowly back into order to take up the day’s tasks as the Bosun began giving directions. Even he could not remain unaffected though, and though his words were harsh, they lacked their usual sting.

“You, and Tom too,” The Bosun called out as he strode by them, “Go with Gregory and see to Henry’s things.” Billy looked back to where the Quartermaster was still standing but knew he would have to wait to bring up Tom. 

Billy and Tom spent the hour sorting through the dead man’s things and deciding what would be auctioned off to the crew to raise money for the man’s family. When they had finished they were separated by their duties once again as Tom left to tend to the Captain, and Billy was put to the task of repairing a footrope. 

It was only after Billy had brought the Surgeon his meal that he encountered the Quartermaster on the deck, observing charts and making markings for their heading.

“Sir,” he said, not wanting to interrupt the man. The Quartermaster finished writing something down, and then looked up at Billy. 

“What is it?” The Quartermaster asked dismissively, eyes going back to his charts as he waited for Billy’s answer.

“I have a concern about the Captain’s boy,” Billy waited for some indication that the man was listening, but the Quartermaster said nothing. “I’m worried the Captain is being too hard on him.”

The Quartermaster’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Too hard on the boy?” He asked incredulously, clearly dismissing Billy’s concern.

“He’s badly bruised,” Billy said, anger rising to the surface and giving him strength. He stood up straighter and met the Quartermaster’s eyes with challenge. “The Captain is beating him senseless, so much so that I am shocked that he is capable of continuing his duties as he does.” The Quartermaster’s attention was fully on Billy now, and his gaze was hard.

“Do not step above yourself,” he said coldly. “It is the Captain’s business, and the Captain’s nephew. Discipline is necessary for order on a ship. This is something you would do well to be aware of.”

How could the man dismiss something so casually? Billy’s fists clenched as he railed inwardly against the injustice of the situation. 

“Tom is a boy!” He said angrily, “And he has done nothing to warrant this treatment! How long before the Captain damages him more permanently in the course of his discipline?”

“Enough!” The Quartermaster was livid. “I will hear no more of this, or you will be flogged for your disobedience. Leave this matter at once, and return to your duties!”

Before the words left him he knew they were stupid, but the sense of justice that his parents had forged into him as he grew would not allow him to leave it. 

“If you turn your back on this now, what else will you ignore before everything is over? What monstrous acts will haunt your dreams?” He hissed the words out, riding high on the anger running in his veins. The Quartermaster’s face reddened alarmingly with anger, and then his fist connected heavily with Billy’s face.

The sudden blow had spikes of lightening claiming his vision as his teeth clamped down onto a corner of his cheek causing blood to fill his mouth. Billy stumbled backwards a few steps, and brought his hands up as if he could ward off another blow. The Quartermaster had regained control of himself though, and he called two of the crewmen over to them.

“Take him below and shackle him,” he told the men. “I’ll see to him later.” His face was still red, and he glared angrily at Billy.

The men seized his arms even as he halfheartedly struggled in their grip, but where could he go? There was only the ship or the ocean, and nowhere to run. It was with a sinking heart he realized he had made his life much more difficult. He ceased his struggling, and walked stiffly between the men holding his arms, jaw aching from the Quartermasters blow.

The room was murky with darkness, with only a small amount of light filtering in through the door. Metal chains clinked as one of the men picked up the shackles, and then cold iron was being clapped around his wrists. Billy looked back at the men who had confined him, but both were avoiding his eyes. Anger mixed with despair in the pit of his stomach. The same men he’d worked with for the past months were now the men confining him.

“What’s going to happen to me?” He asked them. They both looked back at him and then exchanged a glance with each other.

“If you’re lucky, he’ll forget about you and you’ll spend a day or two down here.” The man shook his head, “It’s not likely.” Then they left, shutting the door behind them.

Billy was left sitting in near darkness once again. It reminded him of his first days on the ship, confined below with the other men and listening to the sounds of the ship getting underway with it’s crew above them. There was nothing for him to do but succumb to his thoughts, alone in the darkness. 

It was difficult to tell how many hours had passed before the door opened, and the slight form of a boy appeared. Billy started with surprise. 

“Tom!” Billy stared at the boy bringing him food. Tom set the hard biscuits down with a cup of water in front of him. “Are you doing well?” He desperately hoped the Quartermaster had not taken out his anger with Billy on the boy.

Tom kept his eyes down and shrugged. “Better than you I think.” Billy smiled at him.

“Well as long as you’re not locked up in shackles like me, I suppose you are. Have they said anything to you?” He wondered if Tom knew why he was down here. Was that why they had the boy bringing him his meal? Abruptly he wondered who had been given his duties to the Surgeon now that he was down here.

“About you? No, but everyone knows what happened anyway. There are no secrets on a ship.” Tom finally looked up at him. “You shouldn’t have done it,” he said simply.

“Maybe not,” Billy said, “But my parents raised me not to look away from injustice, and what the Captain is doing to you is wrong.” Tom looked away, and Billy could see him flush with shame.

“I can deal with it,” Tom said quietly. “You should look after yourself, you’re the one facing the lash.”

Billy knew what was likely to happen to him, but still, to have the boy state it with such finality made it feel real. An icy lump settled in his chest and he swallowed uncomfortably. “Thanks for the food, Tom,” he said softly.

The boy looked at him hard, as if he were gauging Billy’s reaction. “I appreciate what you did,” he said suddenly. “But please don’t do it again, it will just make life harder for both of us.” Then he turned and left, shutting the door firmly behind him and leaving Billy once more alone in the dark.

Billy settled back against the wall and slowly ate his food. He felt sick with anxiety over what the future might hold, and despite the blandness of the biscuit his stomach roiled. How long would they leave him here before they took him to face his punishment? How bad would it hurt? He’d heard stories before, but he’d never thought of himself facing the same fate.

He drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep through the night. He could hear men moving about the deck and talking distantly, the sound muffled by the wooden door. 

Some time later the door opened again, but it was not Tom who entered. Two sailors walked in and hauled him to his feet as he blinked stupidly at the sudden light flooding the room.

“It’s time to go,” one of the men told him as he found his legs.

They guided him out of the room and up to the main deck. He could see the crew arranged around an upturned grating with the ships officer’s standing in front.

Anxiety made his heart pound hard in his chest. This was really going to happen, and the entire crew would witness it. The Captain stood with the Quartermaster and Bosun in front of the ship’s officers. Billy’s eyes darted to the cat-o-nine tails resting in the Bosun’s hands and he shivered and stood up straighter. If this was going to happen, he would face it with as much dignity as he could muster.

The Quartermaster was watching him closely, mouth tightlipped. They stopped in front of the Captain, and he looked up at the man’s cold eyes. The Captain frowned at him, and then addressed the men holding him.

“Remove his shirt and make him fast,” he said. The men released his shackles and tugged his shirt off. Then he was being pushed onto the grating, with each arm being extended and fastened to it in turn with rope. When it was finished the men stepped back and joined the crew as the Captain addressed them all.

“This man is guilty of insubordination to the Quartermaster, and to me in turn,” the Captain told the gathered crew. “For insubordination to any of the Officers under me is a reflection of your disregard for my authority as your Captain. The punishment for such behavior is six lashes.”

Billy’s skin prickled as he began to sweat and the breeze cooled it. He rested uneasily against the sun-warmed wood of the grating as the Bosun stepped forward into position. He held his breath as he waited for the first blow to fall.

When it came it was like being struck by lightning. His breath left him in a sudden gasp and he fought to take in air against the sudden shock of pain. The second blow came with equal force, and he felt like his back was being set on fire. The Bosun crossed his strikes, and the pain compounded as he struck already sensitive skin. Billy grit his teeth and focused on breathing through the blows. The only sound that escaped him was the sudden release of his breath and grunt of pain as the lash cut his skin.

Finally the sixth and last blow fell and the Bosun returned to the Captains side. Billy could feel the gaze of the men on him as he shivered with pain. He rested his forehead against the grating as he breathed unsteadily as flames licked his stinging back. The Captain was saying something again, but he couldn’t rouse himself to pay attention. He was unaware of how long he stood there on trembling legs when he was released from the grating. 

He stumbled between the men holding him up as they led him through the crew and to the Surgeon’s quarters. They lowered him onto a table on his stomach, and he gasped as the movement sparked new flares of pain along his back. The men left and he was alone with the Surgeon.

“What have you done to yourself boy,” the Surgeon asked brusquely as he gathered his supplies to him. Billy groaned, in too much pain to respond coherently.

The Surgeon leaned over his back, inspecting it with a gentle touch before moving to gather something from a little pouch. 

“This is going to hurt,” he warned him, and then his hands were rubbing something into the open wounds that sent new and infinitely worse shocks of pain running up his back. Billy flinched away from his hands, but the Surgeon firmly held him still.

“It’s not because I dislike you, or that I’m trying to cause you more pain,” he told him in a sympathetic voice. “It’s to stop infection from setting in. We don’t need any more men finding their way into the ocean.”

Billy turned his face away from the man as unwanted tears of pain leaked from his eyes even as he fought them back. The Surgeon finished quickly and he was glad for the man’s competence. His back twitched and stung and burned hot with pain. He just wanted to lay on the table until it didn’t hurt so much to be alive. How easy it was to forget what it felt like to be healthy and uninjured.

It wasn’t over yet however, and the Surgeon urged him to get up to move to an open bed in the sick quarters. Billy limped to it with the Surgeon supporting him, and as he lay back down on his stomach he finally gave in to the exhaustion of pain and passed out.

The next few days were a haze of pain. His skin ached and burned while feverish shivers wracked his body. Occasionally he would awake to the Surgeon checking his back, or Tom bringing him food. He could see the boy’s eyes darting to his back, and then away again as his lips twisted into a grimace. The boy seemed to be moving better, as if his bruises had healed, and that brought him some relief in the face of his own overwhelming pain.

Billy was kept in the Surgeons care until his fever abated and he was left with a raw back but none of the fever chills that had shook him. The Surgeon declared him ready to rejoin the crew so long as he took care with his healing skin. Billy thanked him for his care as he left. The Surgeon had been one of the few consistently kind faces on this ship.

He slipped quietly back into life amongst the crew, but it was bitterness that made him keep his head down. He could see the looks the crew would give him, how they were hesitant to include him in their bantering as if by doing so they might draw the ire of the Quartermaster to themselves. 

The Quartermaster had been in a mood of late, and as a result the Bosun was rough on the crew. His use of the cane had become more frequent as he took his frustration out on them. He seemed to take particular delight in catching Billy fumbling a rope, or moving too slowly, and striking him over his still healing back. His back was the main cause of his hesitancy, as every step and motion of his arms would jar and stretch the skin in painful ways. After working long enough at one task he would become numb to it, but he would stiffen shortly after any rest.

Billy had been removed from his duties to the Surgeon, and instead occupied the menial tasks necessary to keep the ship running smoothly. He’d noticed Tom had taken over those duties, and he wondered if that was meant as a punishment as well. Did the Quartermaster assign him to make a point to Billy? Or was there really no one he could spare to serve the Surgeon?

The only good news of late was that most of the men who had been gravely ill seemed to be recovering. A few others had shown lesser signs of illness and been quarantined, but all were improving.

He was scrubbing the deck when a call went out from the crow’s nest.

“Sail!” The man called out, and his cry had garnered the attentions of the Quartermaster and Captain. The Captain took the proffered spyglass from the Quartermasters hands and turned it to the horizon. The men on deck whispered quickly to each other and the rumor that it was a Spanish ship started immediately. The Captain turned to face the crew and confirmed it.

“She’s a Spanish ship, to quarters now!” 

“To quarters!” The Quartermaster echoed the Captain’s order, and men began to scramble across the deck to their assigned positions.

They had run the drill a few times since Billy had come aboard, but this was his first time hearing the order in earnest, knowing they would face an enemy ship in battle. The Sail Master began to call out instructions to the crew to turn the ship, and officers took their places on the deck with their guns at the ready. Billy had been warned that if it came to battle and he even thought about running, the officer’s would be sure to shoot him dead where he stood and spare them all his cowardice.

“Come on!” Came David’s voice beside him, and he got to his feet, ignoring the ache of his back as adrenaline began to course through him. Billy followed the men swarming down to their assigned cannons, and then went to the magazine to retrieve powder.

The Bosun was shouting instructions to the men manning the cannons, and the atmosphere was one of tense excitement. Men began calling out encouragement and threats to each other, seeming eager to meet the ship. There confidence leant him strength, but he could feel anxiety over the impeding battle rattling beneath his skin.

Billy reached the magazine and was handed a small bag of powder, which he covered as he took it directly back to his cannon. Philip and David were the men tasked with aiming and firing the cannon, and both were working to bring it to bear when he reached them. They took the powder from him and sent him on to the shot locker to get shot.

When he reached them again they loaded the shot and then waited as the other men finished readying their cannons as well. The crew was still calling out back and forth. Billy could feel his heart beating in his throat as he waited with them. David turned and gave him a tight-lipped smile of encouragement.

“Fire!” The call came suddenly.

“Let them have it!” Shouted another man as they lit their cannons. David lit the powder and the cannon released its shot with a crack like thunder that was amplified as guns up and down the line fired. The sound was deafening, and the cannons jerked back with the force, held only by the ropes tying them to the ship. The men cheered as the round was loosed and began to ready their cannons once more.

“We’ll sink that bloody Spanish ship!” Another man yelled amongst the men cheering at the successful firing of the cannons.

Billy ran back to get more shot while David and Philip sponged the cannon. He could hear an answering crack split the air, and then the ship was shuddering as it took cannon fire of it’s own. He heard a man begin screaming, and saw that shot had severed his leg, which was bleeding all over the deck. One of the crew grabbed him and began to bring him to the Surgeon. The men worked furiously to ready their cannons and return fire.

When Billy returned to his cannon and he could see that white smoke was filling the air between the two ships. Then the cannons split the brief lull with a roar as they fired once again. On and on it went, the cannon volleys roaring and cracking as if they were in the middle of a fierce storm. Men cheered and shouted in battle lust while other screamed in agony as shot or bits of the ship found them and felled them where they stood.

Those that were immediately dead were tossed overboard, while those wounded were brought quickly to the Surgeon in an attempt to save them. The decks began to run red with blood. The unholy crack of fire split the air again, and as the ship shuddered from the impact Billy felt the sharp bite of something piercing his arm. He spared a look and saw splinters sticking out of his skin at the same time as a young man next to him had his bowels torn open by a cannonball and fell to the deck, mouth open in a silent scream.

Billy stood frozen at the sight, and then a cry of surprised agony lifted above the rest and he saw Tom. On his way back to his cannon his powder had caught fire and was burning his face horribly. He was pawing at it desperately and screaming when shot caught him in the midsection and tore him in two. Horror was all Billy could feel at what he had just witnessed. One of the men grabbed the boy and began hauling him away. David was suddenly next to him and he shook Billy hard.

“Don’t think about it now boy, there’s no time for that. Go get more powder!” David released him with a shove towards the magazine. On dazed legs Billy found his way there and took the powder. He felt like he was in a waking nightmare, how could this be real? He took care to cover the powder with his jacket to prevent it catching on fire like poor Tom’s had.

The ship shuddered and shook with every hit. Men shouted encouragement to each other even as the wounded were carried off. The crack and roar of cannon volleys split through all of it to bring death to the crew. Billy worked in a numbed horror, bringing powder to additional cannons due to the loss of their powder boys.

“Cease firing!” The order came suddenly in a lull between cannon volleys. “She’s struck her colors!” 

The sudden cessation of roaring cannons made Billy’s ears ring. The crew stood on standby as the boarding party readied themselves to take the opposing ships officers. David turned from the cannon to examine Billy.

“What’s this?” David asked as he reached out and took a hold of Billy’s injured arm. Splinters stood out through his clothing where they had pierced his arm. He could feel it stinging again from his abuse of it through the battle.

“I can take them out for you,” David told him, “We just need to remove them and wrap it.”

“Please,” Billy said, throat working dryly. David wasted no time and promptly grabbed the largest piece and jerked it out. Billy grunted in pain at the removal and David moved quickly to pull out the few other pieces. It was over quickly and Billy was shrugging gingerly out of his shirt to get a look at his arm and wrap it. Blood was trailing down over his forearm from jagged punctures where the splinters went in. Billy tore a strip from his shirt and David helped him wrap it around his injury.

There was a commotion overhead as the boarding party returned to the ship.

“Clean and stow gear!” The command was given, and the men still standing and mostly uninjured began to work to return the area to its normal condition, at least as much as possible. The next few days would be full of repairs and sanding to remove the bloodstains from the deck. 

Billy worked with the rest of the men in a numbed daze. Adrenaline was wearing out and leaving them all exhausted. It was late by the time things were mostly in order. When Billy fell into his hammock that night, stiff and sore from his injuries and exhausted from the stresses of battle, he dreamed of Tom, and awoke with tears leaking from his eyes.


	4. Opportunity

_Billy clung to the rope ladder as he climbed the main mast of the ship. His movement was effortless now, his feet placed assuredly on each rung. Below he could hear men shouting at one another but he did not look down. He reached his hand up for the next rung, and felt it start to slip as he grabbed hold of it. His left hand tightened another rung to compensate._

_He could feel sweat rolling in slow rivers down his back and on his forehead. He shook his head, and red droplets splattered his arm. He felt like he was moving through molasses as he stepped up another rung and reached again to grab a hold of the rope. His hand slipped and left behind a red smear. He turned his hand over to look at his palm, only to find it was coated in thick red blood._

_He shuddered, as the screams of men dying below him suddenly grew clearly audible to his ears. The ship rolled suddenly with a wave, and he grabbed at the rope ladder, but his hands slipped in the blood, and he was falling backwards towards the ocean_ – and into his hammock.

Billy’s body jolted as he jerked awake, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he half expected to feel water engulfing him. His eyes darted around the berthing in the dark, but he was the only one awake. He lay back but his mind would not stop working, stuck in the nightmare the memory of blood brought back to him.

It’d been some time since his first experience with battle, but sometimes dreams would bring back to him the horrible sights and sounds. He levered himself out of his hammock and quietly worked his way out to the main deck, avoiding the men on watch even as they marked his passing. 

The full dark of night encompassed him as he made his way to the head under the pretense of needing to relieve himself. Once there he took care of his business, and then stood for a time looking out over the dark rolling ocean. He imagined seeing the shape of land jutting out in the distance, leaving the ship behind and finding his way back to his old life that was so far away from him now.

Billy wondered if his family had given up hope of seeing him again. It had been years, would they even recognize him now with his hair cut short and wearing slops? Tan from the weather and lean from hard work? Footsteps behind him announced the approach of another man and Billy stepped away from the railing. The clean air was a reprieve from his berthing but he would try to get another hour of sleep before the sun rose.

The first task of Billy’s morning was to bring the Captain his breakfast while he consulted his charts. When he entered the Captain’s cabin the man gestured for him to place the food on his desk. Billy did so and took a step back, waiting for him to find a fault with something as he often did.

“You’re late,” the Captain told him.

“The Cook was unhappy with the state of the storeroom and we had to correct it first in order to keep our food safe and edible.”

The Captain eyed him suspiciously as he took a bite. No doubt the man thought he had overslept or been avoiding his duties in some way. At other times the Captain would complain about the state of his cabin, or that Billy had forgotten to bring him some supply from their stores.

“You’re dismissed.” The Captain said irritably, and as Billy turned to leave he almost collided with the Quartermaster who had just entered the cabin. 

“Captain,” the Quartermaster glanced at Billy and then turned to the man at the desk. Billy edged to the side, hoping to sneak out the door while the Captain was distracted, but the Quartermaster stood blocking it.

“What is it?” The Captain asked.

“We’ve sighted land sir. With the wind favoring us we should hit port this afternoon.”

The Captain’s attention had turned fully on the Quartermaster now.

“Good. Have the men prepare to refill our supplies once we dock, I want to be underway again by tomorrow.”

“Captain, the men could use a day in port,” the Quartermaster started beseechingly. “Their spirits have been bleak recently.”

“No.” The Captain said and got to his feet. “We will stay as long as we need to take on food and water, and then we must be underway again. We’ve got new orders. Give the men a few hours to indulge, but no more.”

“Aye sir,” The Quartermaster acknowledged. The Captain’s eyes caught on Billy standing unobtrusively in the shadows.

“And have someone cut this man’s hair, I don’t want lice infecting the crew.” The Quartermaster glanced at Billy.

“Of course sir.” He moved away from the door and gestured for Billy to precede him out onto the deck. The men were at busy at the mornings work, but the Quartermaster singled out one of the men scrubbing the deck and called him over.

“Roger, take this man down and shave him. I’ll have the other men sent to you as well.”

“Aye Quartermaster,” Roger replied. “Come on then,” he gestured at Billy and led the way below.

Roger made quick work of Billy’s hair, shaving it close to his scalp and allowing the strands of cut hair to fall on the deck. The Bosun appeared as Roger was finishing with the other pressed men following him.

“These men as well,” the Bosun told him, and then left them in Roger’s hands.

The rest of the morning and afternoon seemed to drag on as Billy returned to scrubbing the deck. His hands were cracked and calloused from the rough work, and his back burned from the heat of the sun. He could feel the ocean’s breeze against his freshly shaven scalp as he worked and it brought him some relief from the heat.

The men knew they were going to pull into a port soon and were talking excitedly to each other about all the things they wanted to do. Billy couldn’t help but overhear their discussions, and he listened carefully as he scrubbed, allowing their talk to break up the tedium of his labor

“We’re hitting port!”

“Finally some fresh food!”

“I’ve heard the Captain is giving us a day ashore before we leave.”

“So quickly?”

“You there!” The Bosun interrupted the group. “Get back to work! We need all hands on deck to dock.” He smacked one of them across the shoulders with his cane and pushed another who gave him a black look before moving away. The Bosun turned to the men working on the deck.

“That’s enough for today, stow your gear and standby.” He surveyed them and then singled one man out. “George, take the pressed men below and shackle them.” The men began to gather up the gear on the deck as George singled out Bernard and then Rowland.

As George’s eyes fell on him Billy reluctantly dropped his stone and fell in with the other two men. It was common practice to keep them below when they hit port, and they were familiar by now with the distasteful procedure. The men shuffled slowly behind George, as if they could delay what was about to happen.

“Bosun!” One of the sailors approached the man as they were leaving and Billy could hear a rapid discussion take place between them. George stopped as the sailor gestured at them, and crossed his arms as he waited.

“George! Leave Bernard here, we need his hands on the mast.”

“Aye Bosun,” George acknowledged, and Billy heard Bernard exhale in relief. He met the man’s eyes and Bernard shifted, looking from the mast to the deck, and then out towards shore meaningfully. Was he planning something? He gave Billy a nod, and then left as they continued down into the hold. As they went Billy’s mind flew through possible scenarios. 

They were going to be entering an English port today. When would they be so close to their homes again? If Bernard was going to make his own move to leave, then they would need to as well or risk being under even more scrutiny.

When they reached the small room they were to be shackled in Billy let Rowland enter first. As George knelt and began to lock the first shackle on his wrist Billy made his move. He threw his right arm around the mans throat and dug in, pulling up and bringing him back as the man choked and gurgled in surprise, hands clawing at his arm.

“You’ve become complacent,” he growled into George’s ear. “Remove the shackle from Rowland and give him the key, or I’m going to wait for you to pass out and do it myself.” He loosened his grip enough for the man to gasp in a breath, and then tightened it warningly again. George dropped the key in Rowland’s free hand as the man stared at them with wide eyes.

“Good.” Billy said. Rowland quickly unshackled himself and slipped the key in his pocket. “Put the shackles on him now,” Billy instructed Rowland, and the man grabbed the chains off the ground and slipped them on the man’s wrists.

Billy released George completely then, and turned to quickly shut the door.

“What are we doing?” Rowland asked him.

“We’re getting out of here,” Billy told him. “Unless you want to stay?”

“What are you going to do to me?” George asked shakily from his position in the corner.

“If you’re good and stay quiet? Nothing.” Billy said. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I won’t risk you jeopardizing our escape.”

“They’re going to notice I’m gone,” George pointed out, and Rowland turned to Billy with fear in his eyes.

“What do we do when they come down here?” Rowland asked urgently.

“I think everyone will be too busy to check on us until it’s too late. Will they notice him missing?” He gestured at George and shrugged. “There’s no other way. We will be gone before they come looking.” He peered out the grating of the door and then back at the two men on the floor.

“Make yourselves comfortable, it will be awhile before we can make our move.”

They stayed like that in the dark, listening to the men call out to each other and move about the deck above them. Billy eventually switched positions with Rowland, and sat on the floor to rest while the other man kept a watch out the grate for anyone approaching them. As Billy thought the men were too busy to check on the hold and they remained alone.

George watched them from his position on the floor, but made no move to call for help or escape. Billy suspected he either knew no one would hear, or felt sympathy for them. After all, they had worked together and gotten to know each other over the years. He wouldn’t rely on that though, for George was duty bound to obey his orders and his acquiescence could change at the approach of another sailor.

Billy switched positions with Rowland again, and men began to enter the hold and go to the storeroom. He could hear their voices as they began to bring out empty water barrels to be filled. They’d docked then. He turned to see George and Rowland watching him, their eyes glinting in the dark.

Footsteps sounded on the deck approaching them, and Billy’s heart kicked into gear, pumping with adrenaline as he turned his eyes to find Bernard coming towards them. He breathed a sigh of relief as the man reached the door and peered inside.

“It’s us,” he told the man. Bernard looked surprised to see them out of their shackles.

“I guess you’ve already solved one of our problems,” he told Billy. “Come quickly, we will grab one of the water barrels and leave with the men to refill them. It’s dark and everyone is busy. If we’re lucky they won’t realize what we’re doing.”

Rowland stood up and moved to the door, pausing in front of George he raised a finger to his lips and mimed silence. They slid the door open and quietly left the room when footsteps again sounded coming in their direction.

“Who’s there?” A man called out as he came towards them. “What are you doing?”

“Go!” Billy whispered at them, “I’ll take care of him and follow you.” Rowland and Bernard took off, and sensing something afoot the man began to run towards him. As he saw who was standing there he slowed down and looked at him with confusion.

“Billy?” He asked, glancing from him to the open door. “What’s going on here?”

“Philip?” George suddenly called from inside the room. 

“Sorry,” Billy said, and swung his fist at the man’s face, catching him unaware and knocking him to the ground. Philip staggered to his feet dazedly.

“Help!” He shouted suddenly, attracting the attention of the men in the storeroom. Billy leapt on him, intending to silence him when George began to call out as well. Billy groaned in frustration and punched Philip again to prevent him from following him when he ran, but it was too late.

The men from the storeroom had come running at the sound of shouts from their fellow shipmates and there was nowhere for Billy to go. He settled himself on his feet, determined to try to fight his way out and run, or go down fighting. He could not stand by and let another chance for escape elude him, and it was far too late to back down.

When the men saw Philip on the ground and bleeding they roared in anger. The first man jumped at him and Billy twisted out of the way, elbowing him in the back of the skull as he passed. Another man caught his cheek while he was distracted and his head was thrown roughly to the side. He stumbled, and then rolled out of the way of the third man’s kick at his knees. 

Billy found his feet again, and charged the first man catching him in the chest and bringing him to the ground. He brought both his hands around the mans throat and held tight as the man scratched at his face and arms, drawing thin trails of blood. The second man kicked him in the side and he fell off the man, coughing and gasping as he quickly rolled to his knees in an attempt to stand. Another kick was directed at his face but he grabbed the man’s leg and brought him down with a mighty jerk.

He stood up and kicked the man in the head, hoping to knock him out and keep him down. The first man grabbed him from behind, his arm around his throat, choking him like he had done to George earlier that day. Billy gasped and scrabbled at his arm. The man wasn’t as tall as Billy, and his grip began to slide as Billy backed up and then slammed his body into the wall. His grip failed completely then, and as he let go Billy whirled around and headbutted him, causing sparks to fill his vision as he slid down to the ground. As Billy staggered back one of the men’s fists connected with his skull and his vision went white as he fell face first onto the deck.

Billy clawed at the ground as his vision began to clear, and then he was kicked in the ribs. The pain forced him to curl in on himself in an attempt to protect his body from further injury. He could see the man he’d thrown down earlier still laying on the floor before he covered his head with his arms and hoped for it all to end soon.

The blows rained down on his body by the obviously angry man, and Billy felt himself slipping into oblivion. One kick caught the back of his head, and everything went dark.

He came back to himself minutes later to find himself in shackles with George talking to the men outside. Billy’s whole body ached with pain and lightening stabbed as his skull, his stomach roiling with nausea.

“They’re gone!” One of the men said.

“Well go let the Bosun know!” he could hear George tell another man angrily, “And then come back and help me get these men to the doctor.”

Billy tried to roll onto his side to pick himself up but his stomach lurched and he emptied his guts on the floor. His head swam and eyes teared up from the force of his retching and he let himself drop back to the deck next to the pile of his own vomit. He stomach roiled with sickness and pain as he listened to the men arguing.

“What were you thinking?” A voice asked him from the door. He weakly turned his head towards the man standing there and saw David looking down at him. 

“I-,” he coughed and retched dryly. “Had to… try,” he rasped and closed his eyes against David’s answering frown. They were both silent and Billy could feel David’s gaze on his battered body.

“I’m sorry,” he heard the man say, and cracked his eyes open in time to see David walk away. Another man took his spot in the doorway, looking down at him with disdain.

“You did a number on those men,” the man said. “You’re not leaving our sight until we’ve got the deserters back and the Captain deals with you.”

Billy heard him speak but couldn’t bring himself to care. He ached terribly and his head spun. He slipped back into unconsciousness.

Throughout the evening and night Billy would wake for brief moments, once early on simply to retch again. There was always a guard stationed at the door, though the faces changed with the passing hours. 

It was early in the morning when raised voices roused Billy uneasily. The guard at the door moved to the side as two men entered with Bernard being dragged between them. They forced him to the deck though he was limp and offered no resistance. Quickly they shackled him, and then abandoned them both under the guard’s careful watch.

Billy wearily pushed himself up enough to lean against the wall as he watched Bernard’s fists open and close with suppressed frustration as he avoided Billy’s gaze.

“What happened?” Billy rasped at him.

Bernard shook his head and kept his gaze downturned.

“I shouldn’t have stayed in town. They recognized my clothes and turned me in.”

“Rowland?” Billy asked quietly.

“I don’t know. I lost him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Bernard asked, and turned to meet Billy’s eyes. “We can’t live like this, we had to take the chance.” They stared at each other in silence, and then Bernard suddenly jerked his arms against the chains fiercely, pulling hard even as they dug in and cut his skin. Billy watched with wide eyes.

“Stop!” He begged, even as Bernard roared with rage.

“Shut up!” The guard yelled as Bernard continued to struggle, fighting uselessly against the chains as though he was fighting the hopelessness of their situation. His body sagged suddenly as he ran out of breath and energy.

“This is how it ends,” he told Billy despairingly when he’d gotten his breath back.

“Not yet,” Billy answered, unable to bear the crushing thought of what Bernard had meant. “We’re still alive.”

Bernard looked at him bleakly and opened his mouth to reply when he seemed to think better of it and turned away instead. He stared at the wall silently, regaining his breath.

Billy watched him carefully, but didn’t offer any further comments. He didn’t know what was going to happen from here but he knew there was no way it was going to be pleasant. It had been their one chance to escape and they had fumbled it, another one would not present itself so easily again.

It was midday when men came to take Billy and Bernard out of the hold. He ached with pain, and each step sent unpleasant jolts through his abused ribs and head. Bernard fared little better as they were paraded across the main deck to stand in front of the Captain.

The scenario played out in front of Billy like a bad memory, he had been here once before, alone and flogged in front of the entire crew. Fearful anticipation caused his belly to writhe, twisting it uncomfortably with nausea again. Billy carefully fought back his weakness as they reached the Captain. He would not let it show on his face. He would not give the Captain the satisfaction.

“Before me stands a deserter and a conspirator,” the Captain announced to the carefully watching crew. “All know the punishment for desertion, and it is not trivial. For you have in cowardice abandoned your brothers and your country. You are to be hanged, lest your actions provoke others to the same lengths.”

A murmur went up amongst the gathered crewmen. In all the time Billy had been with the ship he had not seen a man hanged. Many had suffered a flogging for their misdeeds, and more had lost their lives in battle, but this was the first time he’d seen the Captain order the death of a man who had been a part of their crew.

Bernard began to struggle weakly against the men holding him, and with little effort they forced him to his knees where he bowed his head in despair. The Captain’s eyes turned to Billy.

“This man is accused of conspiracy against us. With words and actions he convinced other men to desert whilst being too cowardly to risk his own life in the same way. He has sown seeds of discord in his time amongst us, and led his own companions to their death. As he has humiliated me, so he shall he be humiliated. He will be flogged around the fleet.”

With his judgment given the Captain stepped back and the Bosun stepped forwards to follow through with his decrees. The rope to hang Bernard had already been prepared and now the men holding him began to move him towards it. Bernard seemed to come out of a daze as they neared the noose and began to struggle once more, pleading with the men holding him.

“No, no, please! Please don’t do this!” His face was white in terror as they forced the noose over his head and began to hoist him in the air from the yard arm.

“Mercy!” He begged one last time before his legs left the ground and the rope cut off his air. His hands clawed uselessly at the rope around his neck, trying desperately to free himself as his legs kicked and jerked in time with his struggles. The men continued to hoist him from the yard arm until he was above their heads and then tied the rope off.

Billy watched in horror as his friend struggled, his face beginning to turn blue as he slowly strangled to death. His knees felt like jelly and he struggled to keep himself upright against the weakness in his legs. Bernard’s legs thrashed one last time before we went unconscious, mouth open as though he strove to catch a breath of air. He couldn’t take his eyes off his friend though he longed to be able to. It had happened so quickly, a sentence given and carried out. 

As Bernard’s body ceased its movement the men’s attention turned slowly back to where Billy stood. He stiffened as he felt the men behind him adjust their hold on his arms. The Captain’s eyes finally turned to rest on him again.

“Six lashes,” the Captain said, and the men holding him roughly turned him around and led him to a small boat. They made quick work of removing his shirt, tossing it to the deck before pushing him into the waiting vessel.

Billy’s heart clenched in his chest as the men secured him to an upright post in the boat and then took up positions at it’s oars. He couldn’t see behind himself but he heard the sound of the Bosun’s approaching footsteps. They stopped just short of the boat, and then the familiar whistling of the whip through the air assailed his ears before it struck his back and lit him up with fiery pain once more.

He clenched his teeth as the muscles in his back quivered and twitched with shock at the hit. In the face of this new blistering pain his other aches faded to the back of his mind. It had been so long since the first time, he’d thought he could never forget what it felt like but it seemed time had faded the memory. The sting of another strike made him flinch hard, and the blows continued to fall evenly for four more strokes.

When the Bosun finished he handed his cat-o-nine tails to another man, and then boarded the small vessel.

“Launch the boat!” He called out to the men, and the small boat was lowered carefully into the water. The men began to row and they pulled swiftly away from their own ship, and angled towards the gangway of the next. When they stopped alongside the ship, a strange man entered the boat.

“Six lashes,” their Bosun reminded the man, and he grunted an affirmative before laying into Billy’s back harshly.

He jerked involuntarily against the lash, his body instinctively trying to avoid another blow on his sensitive and injured back. He could feel the curious eyes of the men on the boat watching as he was punished, and he carefully avoided any kind of eye contact with them. When the man finished he went back up the gangway, and their boat rowed to the next waiting ship.

Billy lost count of how many ships they pulled alongside. Each time the strikes finally stopped and they began to move again he desperately hoped they were finished. Were they heading back to the ship? He couldn’t tell from his position, and his eyes were having difficulty focusing. He’d never thought he’d want to return to that ship as badly as he did. He felt like a curiosity on display as the men gathered to watch his punishment. Even the throngs of people on shore had begun to watch as he was paraded from ship to ship.

The blows fell again and again, with a brief lull the only divider as they rowed to the next ship. The salty spray stung his back and his blurry vision was beginning to fade in and out. He tried to remember how many ships had been docked but his memory failed him. They pulled alongside yet another ship, and his breath caught in his chest as a fresh set of blows began. He felt himself grow distant and hazy. His head lolled forward as his body shook from the force of another strike. When the next blow fell he slipped into unconsciousness.

He was unaware of what happened after that moment; whether there had been more ships waiting or not. When he became aware of his surroundings again he found himself still shirtless, and facedown on a bed of rags piled in a corner of the Captains cabin. His body ached and burned in every muscle, but his back was the worst. Even lying still he could feel the sting that told him salt had already been rubbed into the open wounds.

Billy shifted and the rattle of a chain caught his attention. When he looked down he could see a shackle encompassing his right angle, a long chain leading to a bolt that looked recently installed. It confused him. What was he doing here? Shackled to the floor?

The door to the cabin opened suddenly and the Captain strode in. He seemed to ignore Billy at first, setting his hat on his desk and removing his outer jacket. Then turned his eyes to the man lying on the floor.

“I see you’re awake again,” the Captain said. Billy tried to push himself up but the pain was overwhelming. Sweat broke out on his brow as he sank back to the deck and the Captain snorted contemptuously.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the man told him. “I’m sure you’ve noticed. I can’t trust you amongst the men, so you will be attending to your duties here in my cabin as I see fit.”

There was a knock at the door, and then the Quartermaster entered with another man trailing him. The man was carrying food and water, which he silently carried to Billy, setting it down in front of him and then leaving without saying a word. Billy took the water immediately, his parched throat welcoming the relief.

“We’re ready to depart Captain,” the Quartermaster was saying.

“Good,” the Captain answered. “Set sail immediately, and run battle drills as soon as we hit open water. I want every man ready to fight whether it’s against Spanish ships or pirates.”

“Aye Captain.” The Quartermaster took his leave from the cabin, and the Captain settled at his desk, opening a book before him.

Billy ate slowly, his jaw aching. The Bosun shouted orders out on the deck, his muffled voice breaking the silence of the cabin as he directed men to cast off. Billy felt exhausted and his mind disordered from the events of the day. He knew he should feel something, grief at the death of his friend or despair at their catastrophic failure, but it required too much of him. The past day stretched behind him like an eternity of misery. His friend had been hanged and then he’d been whipped to pieces. All he wanted was for the nightmare that had become his life to finally end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it’s taking so long to introduce Captain Flint and the Walrus. I’d intended to reach that moment in this chapter but alas, it keeps growing longer than I had expected. I hope you've been enjoying this anyways! I always look back and have a lot of doubts about my writing, but as long as someone likes it I am happy. Let me know what you think, and I will get right on the next chapter! After all, Billy's world is about to change drastically once more.


	5. Liberation

Billy slept most of the first day he spent chained in the Captain’s cabin. He was relieved whenever he awoke to find the Captain gone, glad to be out from under the man’s hateful eyes. One of the men brought him a meager meal of water and bread whenever he served the Captain his meal, and Billy ate ravenously. His body needed every source of energy he could manage in order to heal.

On the second day Billy forced himself to take stock of his situation. Despite the pain of his injuries and indignity of his situation he needed to be aware of what was happening around him. He could not afford to indulge in self-pity, or to wallow in the constant pain radiating from mostly his back. Who knew what plans the Captain had for him now.

He carefully looked around the cabin, taking note of his surroundings. The Captains desk was in the center, in full view of the door when it was opened and filled with papers, books, and trinkets. Aft there was a small bed and dressing area with clothing strewn around it. He wrinkled his nose at the state of disorder it was in.

He was cataloguing the items on the Captain’s desk, one of which was a small ornamented knife, when the Captain entered the cabin. To Billy’s surprise instead of ignoring him as he had ever since he’d first woken in the cabin, the man approached him. Billy watched him come nearer with trepidation, biting his cheek to keep from groaning in pain as he curled protectively around his body. His back burned fiercely and he could feel the tender skin pulling at the edges of his wounds. The Captain withdrew a key from his pocket, and then knelt by his feet. He inserted the key into the manacle and then turned it, the chains clinking as his shackle was removed.

“Don’t get any ideas,” the Captain said as it clicked open. “Make yourself useful and tidy up this cabin.” He kicked the chain away from himself and went to his desk to pour a glass of wine.

Billy rubbed at his ankle, the skin raw from the shackle that had encompassed it. He put his hand on the bulkhead as he slowly got to his feet, his body protesting with bright sparks of pain as his movement pulled at his bruised and broken skin.

The Captain ignored him as he got to his feet, and he was glad for the lack of attention as he limped carefully around the room. He picked up discarded clothing from the deck and began to slowly put the man’s sleeping quarters in order. He cleared the nearby table of dishes, and returned books to their places on the shelves. Eventually he’d done as much as he could but he continued making rounds around the cabin, carefully studying every nook and cranny of the room.

He was doing just this when one of the men entered the cabin, bringing the Captain his evening meal. The Captain gestured for the man to leave it on his desk as he unceremoniously returned Billy to his chain in the corner. Like a dog, Billy thought to himself as the shackle clicked shut around his ankle.

It had been good to stretch his legs, but on top of his current injuries the activity had exhausted him. He could feel his eyelids drooping with his desire to sleep. The man had brought him his simple meal of bread and water. It was barely enough to give him any strength, let alone recover from the trauma he’d endured. The Captain’s meal in contrast was much heartier, and included salted meat. Billy ate quickly and then curled into a ball on top of his thin blankets. He was careful to keep his back from touching them as he fell deeply asleep. 

He woke abruptly some time later that night to the sensation of his body sliding across the deck. His hands flailed out, trying to grab a hold of something to stop his slide but it was too late, his body jerked to a sudden stop as the shackle around his ankle arrested his movement. The ship was rolling on the ocean, and as he began to slide back in the opposite direction Billy reached out and caught the bolt holding his chain with one hand.

The Captain jolted awake as the ocean threatened to throw him out of his bed. He half fell out of it as he stumbled across the cabin, pulling his clothing on as he went. His desk was bolted to the ground, but his chair and other trinkets were not, and they slid off the desk and the shelves to litter the floor with metallic clashes. The sound of glass shattering on the floor had Billy flinching as he held himself steady against the bolt. The Captain had made it to the door just as a knock came.

The door opened and the Bosun met the Captain’s eyes.

“We’ve hit some rough seas sir,” the man said. The Captain pushed past him and out onto the deck, the Bosun following him as the door clicked shut behind them.

Billy was left alone in the dark cabin, the Captain’s books and trinkets rolling back and forth across the deck as the ship continued to roll at steep angles. He held onto the bolt as the Captain’s things rolled into him, muscles clenching with the strain and flinching as he was pelted with small objects. 

His tired arms failed him, fingers numb from the effort of holding himself steady. He cried out as something crashed into his back as he slid across the deck again, stomach roiling with nausea from both the pain and the motion of the ship. He caught a hold of the ring once more and he could feel the ship begin to slow in its rolling motions. They must’ve brought the sails in and altered their course to avoid capsizing he thought as he desperately held onto the rung.

Despite the improvement the rolling continued, and Billy’s arms ached from the exertion. The swells continued throughout the night, and Billy found himself retching brokenly on the deck well before it was over. The movement irritated the broken skin on his back, blinding him with pain once more as objects haphazardly slid into him. He attempted to deflect them with his arm, but it was difficult to keep his hold when he did so.

The rolling gradually gentled into something more sustainable that did not leave Billy straining to stop himself from sliding across the deck. He carefully unclenched his fingers from the rung he’d been clutching, hands trembling from the effort he’d expended throughout the night.

He laid on the ground, exhausted beyond reason yet unable to sleep, heart thumping with adrenaline. There were footsteps on the deck approaching the cabin, and the door was being thrown open as the Captain entered. He gazed around the mess of the cabin before his eyes landed on Billy. The man scowled at the sight of the aftermath of Billy’s retching.

“You couldn’t have done that on something other than the deck?” He asked cruelly as he stomped over to a cabinet. He opened it and jerked out a crumpled towel. The man walked back over to Billy and dropped the towel on his naked back, causing him to gasp at the contact on his sensitive skin. 

“Clean this shit up,” he said as he nudged Billy with his boot. “I want it off both you and the deck by the time I wake up, and then you will restore this cabin to rights.” 

Billy weakly reached up to grab the towel as the Captain went to his bed. He grunted as he pushed himself up and carefully wiped at his right shoulder, which had inadvertently been streaked with bile while he had been tossed about by the ship. Then he took the towel and carefully began to wipe the deck clean with shaking hands.

“Shit,” he whispered to himself, dropping the towel and waiting for his trembling to subside. He knew it was a mixture of pain, exhaustion, and hunger, but he hated how weak he felt.

He finished and thrust the towel far away from himself. He did not want to sleep so near the foul stench. Eventually his eyes began to close, and he gave in to sleep once more.

Days passed and Billy continued to stay chained in the Captain’s cabin. Did the man mean to keep him like this forever? There had been no indication of his intentions and Billy fell into a routine. He was given a meager meal in the morning, and then the Captain released him to set the cabin back to rights. He was fed again, and the Captain had him scrub the cabins deck. On one memorable occasion the Bosun borrowed him to work on some line with the crew.

At first Billy had felt his spirits lift as he was finally able to leave the confinement of the cabin. The air and sun revived him, though it wasn’t long before the looks the men were giving him began to make his skin crawl. 

There were whispers between them, and some stared openly at his back. 

“His back looks like scorched meat.” He heard one man whisper to his friend. 

“He’s bad luck on this ship.” 

The comments were traded behind his back, and they continued as he was put to work on the line. Some men even went so far as to jostle him as they walked by, causing him to hiss in pain as they irritated the wounds on his back.

Billy was glad when the task was finally complete, in some sick way relieved to return to the cabin and away from the judgmental eyes of the ships company. He’d thought his time working side by side with the men would have garnered him some kind of sympathy, in spite of what had happened during their escape attempt. Even if there had only been a few men who remembered him kindly, it would have been something. However, it appeared he was now thoroughly cut off from everyone on the ship. He felt more alone than ever before when he returned to the cabin, but at least it was quiet.

The following day he was eating his meal when the Quartermaster burst into the cabin.

“Sail sir,” he said urgently. “No identification. Should we intercept?”

“Has it noticed us?” The Captain asked calmly.

“Hard to say sir, it is a good ways off to the south.”

“Don’t pursue them,” the Captain replied. “We cannot afford to lose time and miss our rendezvous. Let me know if they change course.”

“Aye sir,” the Quartermaster said.

Billy sipped carefully at his water, allowing the cool liquid to sooth his parched throat as the Captain got up from his desk and began to pace the room. The man’s gaze flitted over his possessions, eyeing the shelves put neatly to order by Billy a few hours previously, before moving to where Billy sat in his corner.

The captain scowled at him, huffing in exasperation before he abruptly left the cabin.

Billy was relieved to see him go. He finished his bread roll in peace and then carefully stood up. He hobbled to the end of his chain, listening carefully for any sound of approaching footsteps. Hearing none he began to slowly pace the length of his chains. He needed to get his body used to moving again despite how weak he felt.

His confinement was wearing on him. His injuries were slow to heal, and his inability to go beyond the cabin was beginning to feed a sense of claustrophobia he had never had before. He quickly tired, weak from his injuries and inadequate nutrition.

Billy slowly sat back down on his thin blanket, and stared dully at the bulkhead. With so little to do and no escape in sight he had begun to let his mind wander in times like these. He imagined finding a weakness in his chains, escaping them at night to slay the Captain in his bed. No. He would wake him first and look into the monsters eyes so he would know. He imagined returning to his parents, being engulfed in his mothers loving embrace once more. Or maybe he would live on an island and never return at all.

He was deep in his imaginings when he felt the ship yaw suddenly. They were changing direction. His attention shifted back and he listened carefully for any indications for the change of course, but there was nothing but the normal calls and the occasional footsteps passing the cabin.

Billy stretched his legs out uncomfortably in front of him, hoping to relieve his tense muscles as he let his mind drift once more. Before he sunk completely into his musings the door opened and the Captain strode in. He ignored Billy completely as he went to his desk and opened one of the drawers, retrieving a pistol and stuffing it into the belt at his hip along with his sword. 

He was arming himself? Had he changed his mind about the sail? Billy’s mind lurched to full awareness. Something like excitement mixed with anxiety began to burn inside him. They were heading towards some kind of battle, there was no doubt about it. The Captain took his log and shoved it in another drawer, locking it. As he turned to stride out his eyes landed on Billy and he paused. 

“Normally I’d let every man fight,” he started. “No, I’d demand every man fight. But no one will trust you at their backs, waiting to stick a knife in them no doubt. So I’m not inclined to allow you to fight and die like a man, because clearly that is something you no longer are.” He left the cabin, pulling the door shut behind him with a thud.

Billy’s lips twisted back in a silent snarl, anger at the man’s words coursing through his veins, propelled by the adrenaline of impending clash. He’d be absolutely powerless, he already was, and the Captain knew it. There would be nothing he could do to save himself like this, chained to a small section of the cabin, unable to move to defend himself. No weapons, and nothing but trousers and a thin blanket between him and the world.

He’d been in battles with the crew before, and it hadn’t been loyalty to the Captain or his country that made him fight, but his desire to survive, and his loyalty to his small group of something like friends. He had no friends on this ship now, but he was not ready to die chained in a cabin like the Captain’s pet dog either.

He sat uselessly in the cabin as the rest of the ship prepared itself for war, he wanted to do something, anything to prepare for what was about to happen, but there was nothing he could do. His chain would not budge; the wood was not weak around the bolt. The Captain had been careful, and nothing was in his reach. Time seemed to pass impossibly slow as he waited for the indicative sound of the first shots being fired.

A man’s muffled voice gave a call, and he tensed as the ship suddenly jerked and let out a roar of thunder. Even though he had been expecting it Billy flinched in surprise at the noise. A second later there was an answering roar and the ship shuddered as the first rounds of shot pierced her. 

Billy crouched, heart racing with adrenaline as the battle began. The roar of the cannons firing became constant, and he could hear men shouting and screaming distantly outside the cabin. Occasionally he heard the quick impacts of running feet on the deck bypassing the cabin.

Another impact racked the ship, and a round penetrated the bulkhead of the cabin near the Captain’s bed. The sounds of yelling and screaming were less muffled now, and he could hear the chaos amongst the men.

“Fire!” A voice called distantly, and men yelled in response as they lit off their cannons. When the answering volley came their cries intermingled with the pain of the wounded. The volleys suddenly ceased, and then a new order was called, one that made Billy’s blood grow cold.

“Prepare to repel boarders!”

If the ship was being boarded then Billy needed to find a way to defend himself, and quick. It was unlikely they’d care why he’d been confined, and they would probably kill him on sight. He took stock of the cabin. Before it had been hit nothing had been within easy reach, but the shot that had burst through the bulkhead had upset the order to the room. 

Men were yelling, and he could hear the metallic clang of swords clashing with each other. The ship had been boarded and the men were now fighting for their lives.

Billy moved urgently. He could see splinters of the ship littering the deck, the Captain’s desk demolished to chunks of wood, and his things scattered across the room. Billy went to the end of his chain and got on his hands and knees to sort through the debris, looking for anything useful. Outside the door he could hear shouts growing closer, and the sound of running feet.

There were pieces of the Captain’s last meal, uneaten, and there amongst the wreckage was the ornamental knife the Captain had kept on his desk. Billy’s hand was wrapping around the hilt when the door flew open and the Captain stumbled in, clutching at his bleeding side. He turned and slammed the door shut behind him, leaning on it in an attempt to prevent his pursuer from entering. 

The door shuddered as something slammed into it from the opposite side, and the Captain’s face blanched. Then he was falling back as another impact forced the door wide open. The Captain scrambled to get back to his feet and face the man standing in the doorway, bloody sword in hand.

The man had ginger hair pulled back into a ponytail, one gold earring piercing his left ear. His face was twisted into a snarl as he advanced on the Captain.

“Mercy!” The Captain blurted out as he stumbled over a piece of wood that had once been his desk.

His attacker continued to advance, and placed the tip of his sword against the Captain’s throat. With the Captain subdued the ginger man’s eyes darted around the cabin. Billy froze in a crouch, knife held loosely in his hand as blazing green eyes settled on his, before the man’s gaze flickered back to the Captain.

“Well, what do we have here?” He growled as he moved to place both Billy and the Captain more easily in his field of vision.

The Captain’s eyes rolled to look at Billy without having to move his head.

“A traitor,” the Captain spit. “Hardly worth the trouble he is.”

“A traitor?” The man asked as he prodded the Captain with the tip of his sword, forcing him closer to Billy. When he stumbled the ginger man kicked his legs out from under him, forcing him to his knees.

“What is a traitor doing chained up like a dog in the Captain’s cabin instead of hanging from the yard arm?” He looked at Billy, and Billy’s heart stuttered as the man’s piercing gaze met his eyes. “What do you have to say?”

A flicker of movement in the door caught his eyes and he saw a stout round man with a balding head step silently into the room, hand on his sword and eyes on the scene before him. Billy let the knife fall from his hand as he stood up. His heart thundered in his chest. He looked back at the ginger haired man, meeting his eyes with determination. 

“I was pressed,” he explained. “For almost three years now. When I attempted to escape with a few other men they were killed, and I was flogged and chained here as an example.”

As he spoke he saw the man’s eyes dart over his naked chest and bruised abdomen.

“Let me see your back,” the man demanded, pressing his blade deeper into the Captain’s neck and causing a trickle of blood to begin to flow.

Billy slowly turned, chain rattling as he carefully exposed his maltreated back. He was acutely aware of the silence behind him, and when he turned back he saw the ginger man was scowling, and the balding man who’d entered behind him had moved to stand at his side.

“Captain, what the fuck have you been doing on this ship?” The ginger man’s eyes were livid as he growled at the Captain. “Where are the keys to these damn chains?” 

“I-in my pocket,” the Captain stuttered, taken aback by the man’s palpable anger.

“Mr. Gates,” the ginger man said. “If you would.”

The bald man stooped and grabbed the Captain’s collar with one hand as he rummaged in the mans pockets with the other. He pulled the key out and moved to crouch down by Billy’s feet. Billy watched with wide eyes, unable to believe what was happening. The shackle clicked as the lock was released, and the bald man pulled it off his ankle, throwing it at the bulkhead in disgust. He stood and met Billy’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” He asked, concern evident in his voice. Billy choked. He swallowed.

“Yes.”

“Good,” the ginger man said firmly. “Now pick up your knife.”

Billy’s eyes widened in surprise. Apparently he’d noticed Billy drop the weapon when he came in. Mr. Gates nodded at him in encouragement and Billy knelt carefully, wary of his injuries. He scooped up the blade and stood, eyes locked on the ginger man. When he saw Billy had the knife he withdrew his sword from the Captain’s throat, but kept his body between the Captain and the door.

“This is the man who stole years of your life and allowed you to languish in servitude. I am giving his life to you now.”

Those green eyes seemed to pierce Billy to his very soul. He turned to look at the Captain who had tormented him. The man was cowering before him now, his eyes full of loathing as he watched his former captive stand before him.

He thought of Tom and how the Captain had abused even those who were supposed to be closest to him. He remembered how Bernard’s body had hung from the yard arm, lifeless in death. He thought of the indignities that had been visited on him in the aftermath for his part in their escape attempt. 

He stepped up to the Captain, towering over him as Mr. Gates and the ginger man took a step back.

“It’s time you pay for what you have done,” Billy told the Captain. He gazed deep into the man’s hateful eyes. “For Tom, for Bernard, for every man you’ve used and tormented; and for the impressed men still aboard this ship who have had no choice but to serve you and fight your battles.” He pressed the knife into the man’s belly. “And for myself.”

He shoved the knife deep into the man’s abdomen with all the weakened strength he could muster. He dragged the blade up, effectively gutting the Captain. When he yanked the knife from the man his intestines poked out of the wound. His eyes bulged as his mouth gaped for air in shock. He fell to the deck, slowly bleeding out.

Billy stood and watched the man bleed on the deck, his limbs twitching as the life poured out of him with every beat of his heart. He soon slumped into unconsciousness, and his breathing failed. Billy turned back to the men standing behind him. The ginger man met his eyes and gave him a nod of approval.

“You said there are more impressed men on this ship?”

“Yes,” Billy answered.

“Give Mr. Gates their names and I will see that they are released.”

Billy stood in a shocked daze. His whole life had just turned upside down. He’d come to believe he would die on this ship, and never dared to imagine that he might be free again. Yet that appeared to be what was happening here.

“Who are you?” He asked, staring at the man in wonder

“Captain Flint,” the man smiled sharkishly, revealing white teeth. “And you?”


	6. The Walrus

Mr. Gates had one of Captain Flint’s men escort Billy to their ship after Billy had given him the names of the other impressed men.

“Welcome to the Walrus,” the man told him. He was of Asian descent and carried a katana at his side. “My name is Joji. Mr. Gates will want to talk to you again later, but for now Doctor Howell needs to see you. You look pretty rough.”

Billy grimaced at the man’s words. He could feel his sweat stinging his back and knew the man had seen the marks that covered it. His walk was uneven as he worked sore muscles that hadn’t seen a lot of use while he was chained up in the cabin.

“I haven’t been at my best recently,” he told Joji, smiling sardonically. 

The man looked back at him, eyebrows lifting as he took in his bare feet and torso once more. “I don’t suppose you have,” he said.

They walked across the weather deck to the stairs leading below. Joji led him to the sickbay where the pirate doctor was tending to the men injured during the battle.

“Doctor Howell?” Joji waited with Billy at his side as a middle-aged man with brown hair falling to his shoulders wrapped cloth around the wounded leg of one of the pirates. He finished what he was doing, and then helped the man stand, catching him as he wavered at first.

“Another injury Joji?” The man asked, as the pirate with the wounded leg hobbled slowly past them and out of the sickbay.

“Not me,” Joji laughed, “The Captain decided to pick up a few strays this time, and this one’s got some injuries he needs looked at.”

The doctor gestured for them to enter.

“What is your name boy?” He asked as he took in Billy’s unclothed and maltreated condition.

“It’s Billy,” he told the doctor, and the man patted the table, indicating that he should sit on it while the doctor examined him.

“If you’ve got him Doctor, I have some things I need to attend to,” Joji told the man.

“Go on then,” the doctor said, already assessing the almost healed bruises on Billy’s abdomen with gentle hands.

“I will send someone for you in a little bit,” Joji told him. “Listen to the Doctor, he’s good at what he does,” He nodded at them and took his leave from the cabin.

“You’ve got some interesting bruises,” the doctor told him as he finished prodding his sides. “But nothing is broken. If you could lay on your stomach I need to take a look at your back.”

Billy got up and carefully laid on his stomach, tensing as he waited for the man’s hands to touch his back. The doctor’s touch was gentle when he began to examine the marks, though Billy hissed through clenched teeth as he brushed against a tender area around the cut.

“That hurts?” The doctor asked him as he prodded the area again.

“Yes,” Billy grunted as he flinched away from the touch.

“It looks like it’s infected,” the doctor said. “I’m going to rub some salt in it to clean it, it’s going to hurt.”

The thought of having salt added to his wounds once again made his muscles clench from his memories of the pain. 

“I know,” he told the doctor. 

The doctor got up and went to one of the cabinets. Billy looked away, staring at one of the squared hammocks installed in the sickbay and focusing on breathing steadily. He could hear the man’s footsteps as he approached, and the sound of a jar being set down on the table next to him. He let his vision blur and breathed in deep and slow before releasing the breath. 

Something touched his back, and then began to sting and burn fiercely as it was rubbed carefully over the healing wounds. Billy clenched his hands on the side of the table and fought back the noise that wanted to escape his throat. His eyes watered as the doctor continued his ministrations on the other open areas of skin, his back burned.

The doctor finished cleaning the wounds but the pain lingered on, stabbing into his back. He closed his eyes as the doctor put the jar away.

“Be careful of your back while it’s healing, and you should be fine,” the doctor returned to the table. “This is all I can do for you for now.”

Billy nodded silently, his cheek resting against the table. He slowly cracked his eyes open and levered himself up, grimacing at the newly awoken pain in his back.

“Doctor Howell,” Mr. Gates entered the sickbay, a pile of clothing in his hands. The doctor looked up at him from where he stood by Billy’s side at the table.

“Mr. Gates, I’ve finished looking over Billy and he will be fine once he’s had some time to heal and recover.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Mr. Gates said as he approached them both. “Here,” he held out the clothing in his hands to Billy. “I thought you might like something clean to wear after everything.”

“Thank you,” Billy said as he took the clothes from him. He carefully stood up from the table, and after glancing at them and finding them engrossed in a conversation with each other, he shucked out of his trousers and put on the set Mr. Gates had given to him. Then he pulled on the loose fitting shirt, grimacing as the motion of pulling it on made the pain in his back flare up again. He pulled on the boots as well, bending slowly and glad the shirt was loose enough not to irritate his wounds.

Seeing that Billy had finished Mr. Gates broke off his conversation with the doctor and looked back at him.

“Much better,” he said, looking Billy up and down. “How are you feeling?”

“My back is on fire,” he said, pain loosening his tongue, “but I’m alive.”

Mr. Gates smiled at his answer.

“I’ve talked with the Captain. Everyone who has been released from impressment will be offered the chance to return to their home. The Captain is willing to arrange it once we reach Nassau.”

“No,” Billy said, automatically rebelling against the idea as his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the suggestion. But why not, he wondered. The idea filled him with anxiety. What would his parents think of the man he had become? He was not the same boy who had been taken from the docks all those years ago, and he’d murdered the Captain of the Lancaster only hours ago. His parents would never be able to accept it, not really.

“I don’t think I could face them,” he admitted, and Mr. Gates face twisted in sympathy.

“I understand,” the man told him. “But take your time to think about it, we will be in Nassau in a few days and no one will begrudge you the chance to return to your home if you choose it.”

“I’ll consider it,” Billy told him.

Mr. Gates gave him a disbelieving look, but he let it slide, instead gesturing towards the door.

“Let’s find you someplace to rest for now,” he said as he turned away.

Billy followed him below decks to where the crew was berthed in hammocks near the mess. Men he recognized from his time on board the Lancaster were sitting together, their backs to the bulkhead as they observed their surroundings with wary eyes, talking in low voices with each other.

David was amongst them, but when Billy tried to meet his eyes he looked away. The other men did the same, whether from guilt or distaste he did not know, but he suspected it was some of both. The escape of Rowland and subsequent punishment of Bernard and Billy had made life more difficult for them he knew, but their refusal to acknowledge him was another knife in his already taxed body.

Mr. Gates led him to a spare hammock and Billy climbed in immediately, hissing lowly as his back came into contact with it. He closed his eyes to the flickering lamplight, letting the dull sound of conversations lull him to sleep.

In all it took about a week for the crew of The Walrus to reach Nassau. During that time Billy and the other impressed men from the Lancaster were put to tasks they were most familiar with about the ship. 

Billy found himself avoiding those men, and instead focused his energy on learning as much as he could about the Walrus. It was a beautiful square rigged ship and as the ship’s Bosun, Randall was happy to regale him with the details of his beloved ship. Sometimes he’d refer him to the ship’s master, and Billy would work on basic repairs under DeGroot’s instruction.

In the evening Billy was working on splicing a line on the main deck. It was a relief to be able to feel the sun soak into his skin and smell the salt on the air. Being locked in the cabin for so long had made him adverse to spending long periods of time inside the belly of the ship. When he got the chance he walked the decks, careful not to strain his injuries, and would talk to the men.

It was strange to mark the difference between the Walrus and the Lancaster. The Lancaster had strict leadership from a heavy handed Captain, and an even harsher task master in it’s Bosun. Life for the sailors under them was harsh and unforgiving. 

While it was obvious there was leadership on the Walrus, it was maintained by the respect of the men who had elected them. The Captain was fair, the Bosun well liked, and the Quatermaster respected by the entire crew. From what he could tell the pirates were mostly pleased with their situation on the ship.

Most interesting was the Captain himself he had to admit. Flint had made a name for himself in his ruthless attacks on any ship that may yield a profit to them. He had seen the Captain moving about the deck and talking with the Quartermaster and the Bosun, but he hadn’t actually talked to the man since that day on the Lancaster. 

Billy watched him out of the corner of his eye whenever he saw the man on deck, fascinated with the way the sun shone on his red hair and the absolute confidence in his stride. Sometimes he’d see Flint turn his head in his direction, and his eyes would brush over him for a moment before returning to his task. It sent a shiver down his spine, and piqued his curiosity. Behind his eyes he could remember the moment when Flint had found him in the Captain’s cabin, the steely look in his eyes as he had assessed his injuries and then put his life back into his own hands.

He gazed out at the slowly lowering sun. Lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice someone approaching him until suddenly the man occupying his thoughts was standing beside him, gazing out at the same horizon. Billy jolted out of his reverie when he realized it was the Captain standing next to him, his hands dropping the line he was splicing to the deck.

Flint turned his head and glanced down at Billy with one eyebrow arched.

“A nice view, isn’t it?” 

“Ah.. It is,” Billy stammered, surprised.

Flint turned back to the ocean, and Billy followed his gaze.

“The sea has its way of claiming men,” he said. “Once they have tasted it they yearn for more. It changes them and then it swallows them whole.” 

He was silent then, and Billy sat still, unsure what Flint was trying to say.

“Mr. Gates informs me that you do not wish to return to England.”

“I don’t,” Billy confirmed, voice low and steady. “I can’t.”

Flint’s gaze returned to him, eyes measuring him as Billy met his gaze.

“If you can’t, there is a place for you here amongst the crew of the Walrus if you desire it.”

Billy gaped at him in shock.

“Of course I expect you will want to take the time to consider your options,” Flint continued. “You have only just emerged from your impressment. But I have seen you work despite your injuries, and Mr. Gates is quite taken with you.”

Flint smiled at his surprised look.

“Take some time in Nassau to consider it and let me know,” Flint reached out his hand and clasped Billy’s shoulder. 

Billy could feel heat radiating out from under his palm, skin tingling from the contact. Then the touch broke off as Flint released him and walked away, leaving his words to chase themselves in circles inside Billy’s head.

He slowly reached down to pick up his dropped line, letting his hands take over once more as he contemplated his options as the sun set.

They pulled into Nassau shortly after that. The ship was anchored out and a boat lowered to bring the men to shore. Billy waited as the other impressed men went first, and as the number of men waiting to get to land decreased he boarded the boat as well.

Getting into the small craft made his stomach clench in unease as he remembered the last time he’d been in such a boat. His back twinged at the memory, and he quickly found his seat, staring determinedly out at Nassau. He took in the details of the structures he could see lining the beach, watching as people walked back and forth amongst them.

It didn’t take long to reach shore, but time seemed to be dragging its feet. When he got off the dock and began to walk the streets he felt tense, waiting to be found out, for someone to question what he thought he was doing. It was stupid he knew, how would they know he had been impressed? And why would they care here of all places? He knew it was illogical but the feeling dogged his heels for the first half of the day as he wandered from shop to shop.

As the day progressed his shoulders began to loosen, though his back ached from his healing wounds and the stress of constant tension. He found himself forgetting his worries as he examined a new tunic at one of the many shops. 

Mr. Gates had given him a small amount of coin, parceled out by the Walrus’s accountant from the takings from the Lancaster. He found his hand drifting to the pouch, feeling the weight of coins heavy in his hand. It was strange to once more have coin to spend. It was a freeing thought though, and he smiled as he caught the shopkeeper’s eye.

He found an inn to stay at for the night. He’d seen men from the Walrus at the tavern and though they’d invited him to their table he’d declined, preferring to spend some time with his thoughts not muddled. He had too much to consider tonight. There had been a handful of men heading to one of the local brothels as well, and his cheeks heated at the thought. It wasn’t that he was unaware, but he’d spent the last three years confined on the Lancaster. 

He shed his clothes and fell into the bed, sighing at the soft feeling surrounding him. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and began to rifle through his thoughts.

He was finally free to choose what he wanted to do. He could do anything he wanted to at this point, except return home. There was no way he could face the disappointment he’d bring to his parents should they learn of what he’d done. He wasn’t ready to go, and even if he was, he didn’t think he wanted to ever return after everything that had happened. 

There was Nassau. He could set up residence amongst the pirates and outlaws of the island, but the thought gave him no satisfaction. He could go to another island, another country, but that seemed even less appealing. Besides, there was something about the Captain of the Walrus that intrigued him. His thoughts always found a way back to the man. Flint was competent, and clever in his handling of the ship’s affairs. He’d given him back his life, his ability to make his own decisions, and Billy wanted to learn more about him.

He wasn’t ready to walk away from the kind of freedom the Walrus offered. If he joined the crew he would be an equal among them, with his own stake in their profits. He knew he had a knack for rigging. He had learned quickly, and out from under the oppressive atmosphere of the Lancaster he could enjoy it. In fact, he wanted to do it, it was the only thing that seemed possible when he considered his future.

The mattress was too soft. He sighed as he turned over, resigning himself to a night of tossing and turning in search of sleep. 

The next morning Billy took a boat back out to the Walrus and went in search of the Captain. Flint had left, he was told by Randall, but would return by nightfall after the conclusion of some business on the island. 

Billy paced the deck, offering his help to the men who had stayed onboard to keep the ship safely manned while their mates went ashore. 

When Flint finally returned Billy went back to his cabin, knocking and waiting to be summoned inside.

Flint was still standing before his desk when he entered, and when he saw it was Billy he turned his full attention to him, eyes piercing in their intensity as they met Billy’s.

“I’ve decided,” Billy said. “I’d like to take you up on your offer.”

Flint smiled, flashing white teeth as he walked up to Billy and reached out to clasp his hand.

“Welcome to the Walrus.”

Billy smiled back, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He had finally chosen his own path, and it felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's finally finished! I'm sorry I left it hanging so long from the last chapter, I lost my inspiration for a bit. Hopefully it's a somewhat satisfying conclusion for you guys. I really wanted to delve more into Billy's acceptance into the crew of the Walrus and his progression to becoming the Bosun as well as more interaction between him and Flint, but it seemed to me that that would make more sense in the form of a sequel. I do have an idea for a sequel that I'm planning to work on, so we'll see how that pans out. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who's taken the time to read my story, I hope you've all enjoyed it! I really cannot tell you how much your support means to me!


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